Friday, September 29, 2023
Possible images for "Finding Filomena"
Only God Knows!
I lay there, and the only words to describe me were exhausted amd spent! My baby had practically exploded out of me! And now, he was lying in my arms. Such a small creature, with a wrinkled little face, pinkish purple in color. The first word that came to mind for him was monkey, "scimmia," because his features looked a bit flat and squashed. But the second word for him was precious, prezioso, because his was already the most beloved face I had ever seen!
I recall a time some years back, long before I met Giovanni, when I asked Nunzi what it felt like to have a baby. Whatever she said to me -- and I really don't remember exactly what she said -- it only served to reinforce my fears, and convince me that maybe I would be too scared.
But almost instantly after I delivered my little monkey, I realized there aren't enough words to describe what an incredible blessing it is. The moment Nunzi presented me with that squalling little bundle, all slippery and wet, his fingers looking way too long for his hands, I adored him and wanted to enclose him in my arms and never let him go!!!
Once I was cleaned up and situated in a bed, and the precious boy was safely swaddled -- fasciato -- in a tight blanket, Nunzi let me try to nurse him. He was able to latch onto my nipple with that tiny pink o of a mouth, but there wasn't much there -- my milk would not be coming in for a few days.
I was glowing with love for this baby and I missed Giovanni intensely as I kept passing my hand over the infant's tiny skull. He had a head full of dark hair, like me, but it was curly just like Giovanni's!!!
I must say, it really irked me that Nunzi chose to sit down on the end of the bed at that moment, and give me a lecture. I was feeling a kind of ecstasy I'd never felt before, and I think she could see it. For one thing, I couldn't stop smiling!
"Fi, I can see how happy you are, and I'm glad for you, but please remember my dear girl, that you will have to give the baby up to Lina. You can't forget that!"
My smile dissolved. I clenched my teeth and held the baby tighter. "Do you think I can possibly forget that? Do you think though that I might just enjoy this time I have with him, Nunzi? Can't you see how important this is to me, to feel like I am his mother, because I did carry him, and I did suffer all those birth pains, didn't I? No matter what happens, I did give birth to this child and in that way, he will always be mine!"
She crossed her arms, and gave me a stern look. I know she wanted to contradict me. I know she wanted to remind me that he wouldn't always be my child. But thankfully, she didn't say another word, not that day at least.
The next couple of days I spent nursing and resting -- and eating! I had quite an appetite and Nunzi cooked up some minestra, and also that delicious stracciatella, the egg drop soup I love so much. She made a batch of her unspeakably good bread, too, and I smothered several slices in butter.
After staying in bed for two days, I got up the third day, and took the baby outdoors for a slow stroll around the farmyard. The sky was bright blue and sunny, and Rico was by my side, walking ever so slowly. I waited for him outside the chicken coop while he gathered eggs.
*********
This is now the fourth day and I am sitting in a place that is completely unsuitable, it is after all a barn, full of -- hay, dirt, and, yes, shit, all of it hiding in the hay, snakes and mice and only God knows what else. I can't stay here, I know that, but for now, this is where I must hide, Nunzi says so. Even though the chances of anyone finding out that I'm here at Lina's farm are so so small.
For now, though, I am nursing Pia, Lina's newborn, a baby with a shock of blonde curly hair, where she got it from, only God knows. She is sucking hard on my tender nipples, swallowing me up is how it feels, but she is after all almost three weeks old.
My precious infant, meanwhile, is only in his fourth day on earth, and he is nursing on Lina's breasts, as he is riding to Paola with Lina and Nunzi in the donkey cart. Oh how my heart aches, missing him, that pink little wrinkled face of his burned into my mind.
This is Nunzi's plan: she is on her way back to Paola today with Lina and my baby. They will register my son as an illegitimate baby who is being adopted by Lina and her husband in Amandea. The birth certificate will not show me or anyone else as his parents. All this to satify the "uffici comunali," the officials of our town who want to make sure to separate babies born out of wedlock from their birth mothers. They separate them, and so often, they end up killing the babies! Oh how I have grown to hate them all, the city bigshots, almost as much as Crudele, the evil priest. They are not one ounce good people, they are in cahoots with the church and their only intention is to keep my son from me.
If Nunzi were here right now, her olive eyes would grow wide, and she would quiet me, she would return me to gratitude, "Hush, Filo," she would say. "Just be thankful you can nurse your son for two or three months!" Yes, it's true, I am grateful for Nunzi, and for Lina, for this arrangement, for all they are doing and have done and will do! Otherwise, my flesh and blood, my precious baby would be gone from me forever into that repugnant ozpizi in Cosenza! Oh the stories I have heard!
So before the day is through, God willing, the three of them -- Nunzi and Lina and my son -- will return, and I will begin nursing him again. As yet, his name is unknown to me! (Why do the uffici get to name him? How come? Some day if I ever have my way things will change!)
I hear the rusty squeal of the barn door sliding and as it opens a heavy shaft of sunlight falls on me in the hay. Little Rico pokes his head inside. I must say, he always makes me smile. I'll be delighted if my little boy turns out to be so sweet as this child with the wild black hair.
"May I sit with you a while?" Rico asks, very quietly, and I pat the straw next
to me. It is as though I have made my own nest here. Thanks be to God that we
are experiencing warm dry weather, and Nunzi and Lina left me with plenty of
blankets.
Rico sits, cross-legged, his bouncy curls covering one eye. "How long are you going to live with us?" he asks.
"Oh, I don't know for sure," I say. And I think again -- only God knows how things will go. Nunzi's plan is that I stay here with Lina for maybe two, or at most three months. "But we'll see," she says.
And then, when my time here is up, I will return to Paola, and my baby will live...with Lina and her family. I don't say this to Nunzi, but I am already wildly jealous of Lina, with all of these children surrounding her. I will be left with nothing -- niente!
I shake my head now, trying to rid myself of these dark thoughts. I would rather not think them, but how can I stop myself? How can I not think ahead to the day that I already dread, the day when I have to leave my precious baby behind, it is something I dread with every cell of my being.
Suddenly I hear a screech and I look down, but Pia is fast asleep, her pink lips open, her mouth dangling over my breast. The screech, it turns out, is coming from a huge white cat, whose green eyes meet mine when I look up! "Mamma mia what a beautiful cat that is!" I say, and Rico gets up and scoops the cat up by her middle, which is thick and bulging.
"Her name is Bianca," Rico says, petting her head. She purrs with satisfaction, and I think to myself, what a nice thing this cat is.
"I have never seen such a pretty cat," I say.
"Yes, and maybe you will want one of her kittens. Mama says she acts like 'una principessa!'" He looks at me with a knowing smile as if he can't imagine that I would say no to the offer of a kitten mothered by a princess!
"Oh well, perhaps," I say, and then I think, what will she eat? When only God knows how I will make money for my own meals, how can I possibly take on a cat?
At that moment Rico's Papa sticks his head in the barn. Bruno is a nice fellow, short and very strong. I have exchanged only a few words with him since I've been here.
"Rico ragazzo, what are you doing playing with that cat when you have chores mio figlio???"
"Oh I'm sorry, Bruno, he asked if he could keep me company?!!" I set Pia on one of the blankets and slowly push myself to my feet. Rico meanwhile, lets go of the cat. Bianca heads directly to where Pia lies.
"SCAT!!!" I yell, reaching down to chase away the cat. I scoop up the infant, who is now awake. "Stay away from this precious baby!"
Rico heads out of the barn, and I decide I am not going to hide here in the dark barn any longer. Nunzi is being ridiculous worrying that someone will see me here. And so what if they did? I have a right to travel wherever I please!
I follow the boy and his father into the barnyard. It's such a beautiful warm winter day, it's a sin to stay inside.
I carry Pia around the barnyard pointing out the animals: "Guarda qui c'e
l'antico asino!" The ancient donkey. "E guarda qui il grande maialino, che alata is suoi numerosi bambini!" And look here the big pig, nursing her many babies!"
I set Pia against my shoulder and pat her back, a burp follows and then a splash of warm milk floods my neck and back.
"Ah Pia, e un bene che stasera non vado a un ballo elegante, profuma di latte materno!!!" Ah Pia, it's good I'm not going to a fancy dance tonight, smelling like mother's milk!"
I give the baby a squeeze and in that moment, the idea that I will soon be nursing my own baby carries me into the clouds! In no more than eight hours, Lina and Nunzi will bring him back to me!!!
***********
And when he does arrive, he is fast asleep. I hear the squeak of the cart's wheels, and I hurry out to the farmyard to greet them. Lina hands my baby down to me. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open.
I carry him inside. Lina follows. "So he nursed a lot while we rode here," she says, "and now that it's dark out, he probably won't want to wake up."
I open the blanket and touch his face very gently. I wait and wait, but he doesn't move a bit. I am a little nervous that something might be wrong with him.
"Oh no, do not worry," Lina says. "New babies do this. They sleep all the time in the beginning, except not in the middle of the night when they are supposed to!"
That's when it hits me: I haven't asked his name. By this time, we are inside. Lina and Nunzi and I are sitting at the table together.
"So what name did they give him?" The two women glance at each other but don't say anything.
"What? He doesn't have a name?"
"Oh no, he has a name alright," Nunzi says, "but you aren't going to like it, Fi." She is speaking quietly.
"Oh well how bad can it be? Tell me, you must tell me!"
Nunzi inhales. "His first name is Pasquale, a very respectable name. But his last name..." Nunzi shakes her head. "It's Orzo."
I blink. "Orzo?"
"Yes," Nunzi says. "You heard me correctly. They named him after the tiniest sort of macaroni."
The name flies around inside my head. I had heard that babies born out of wedlock were often given the name Esposito...which means exposed. Or Igcogniti ...which means unknown. But Orzo?
Then it hits me. "The priest. That name was his idea wasn't it? I'm sure it is! He had it in for me. And my baby."
"I'm not sure who is responsible. The municipal officials are full of themselves. And they are not above trying to humiliate people."
I stared down at my boy...Pasquale. Then I whispered to him. "Well, we will show them, won't we, you sweet little peanut! We will show everyone how great a man you will become, no matter that they have christened you with this foolish name!"
He opened his eyes. Dark little olives. He searched vacantly this way and that for a moment or two. And then he stared at me. And I smiled back, gazing down into that sweet little face.
I recall a time some years back, long before I met Giovanni, when I asked Nunzi what it felt like to have a baby. Whatever she said to me -- and I really don't remember exactly what she said -- it only served to reinforce my fears, and convince me that maybe I would be too scared.
But almost instantly after I delivered my little monkey, I realized there aren't enough words to describe what an incredible blessing it is. The moment Nunzi presented me with that squalling little bundle, all slippery and wet, his fingers looking way too long for his hands, I adored him and wanted to enclose him in my arms and never let him go!!!
Once I was cleaned up and situated in a bed, and the precious boy was safely swaddled -- fasciato -- in a tight blanket, Nunzi let me try to nurse him. He was able to latch onto my nipple with that tiny pink o of a mouth, but there wasn't much there -- my milk would not be coming in for a few days.
I was glowing with love for this baby and I missed Giovanni intensely as I kept passing my hand over the infant's tiny skull. He had a head full of dark hair, like me, but it was curly just like Giovanni's!!!
I must say, it really irked me that Nunzi chose to sit down on the end of the bed at that moment, and give me a lecture. I was feeling a kind of ecstasy I'd never felt before, and I think she could see it. For one thing, I couldn't stop smiling!
"Fi, I can see how happy you are, and I'm glad for you, but please remember my dear girl, that you will have to give the baby up to Lina. You can't forget that!"
My smile dissolved. I clenched my teeth and held the baby tighter. "Do you think I can possibly forget that? Do you think though that I might just enjoy this time I have with him, Nunzi? Can't you see how important this is to me, to feel like I am his mother, because I did carry him, and I did suffer all those birth pains, didn't I? No matter what happens, I did give birth to this child and in that way, he will always be mine!"
She crossed her arms, and gave me a stern look. I know she wanted to contradict me. I know she wanted to remind me that he wouldn't always be my child. But thankfully, she didn't say another word, not that day at least.
The next couple of days I spent nursing and resting -- and eating! I had quite an appetite and Nunzi cooked up some minestra, and also that delicious stracciatella, the egg drop soup I love so much. She made a batch of her unspeakably good bread, too, and I smothered several slices in butter.
After staying in bed for two days, I got up the third day, and took the baby outdoors for a slow stroll around the farmyard. The sky was bright blue and sunny, and Rico was by my side, walking ever so slowly. I waited for him outside the chicken coop while he gathered eggs.
*********
This is now the fourth day and I am sitting in a place that is completely unsuitable, it is after all a barn, full of -- hay, dirt, and, yes, shit, all of it hiding in the hay, snakes and mice and only God knows what else. I can't stay here, I know that, but for now, this is where I must hide, Nunzi says so. Even though the chances of anyone finding out that I'm here at Lina's farm are so so small.
For now, though, I am nursing Pia, Lina's newborn, a baby with a shock of blonde curly hair, where she got it from, only God knows. She is sucking hard on my tender nipples, swallowing me up is how it feels, but she is after all almost three weeks old.
My precious infant, meanwhile, is only in his fourth day on earth, and he is nursing on Lina's breasts, as he is riding to Paola with Lina and Nunzi in the donkey cart. Oh how my heart aches, missing him, that pink little wrinkled face of his burned into my mind.
If Nunzi were here right now, her olive eyes would grow wide, and she would quiet me, she would return me to gratitude, "Hush, Filo," she would say. "Just be thankful you can nurse your son for two or three months!" Yes, it's true, I am grateful for Nunzi, and for Lina, for this arrangement, for all they are doing and have done and will do! Otherwise, my flesh and blood, my precious baby would be gone from me forever into that repugnant ozpizi in Cosenza! Oh the stories I have heard!
So before the day is through, God willing, the three of them -- Nunzi and Lina and my son -- will return, and I will begin nursing him again. As yet, his name is unknown to me! (Why do the uffici get to name him? How come? Some day if I ever have my way things will change!)
I hear the rusty squeal of the barn door sliding and as it opens a heavy shaft of sunlight falls on me in the hay. Little Rico pokes his head inside. I must say, he always makes me smile. I'll be delighted if my little boy turns out to be so sweet as this child with the wild black hair.
Rico sits, cross-legged, his bouncy curls covering one eye. "How long are you going to live with us?" he asks.
"Oh, I don't know for sure," I say. And I think again -- only God knows how things will go. Nunzi's plan is that I stay here with Lina for maybe two, or at most three months. "But we'll see," she says.
And then, when my time here is up, I will return to Paola, and my baby will live...with Lina and her family. I don't say this to Nunzi, but I am already wildly jealous of Lina, with all of these children surrounding her. I will be left with nothing -- niente!
I shake my head now, trying to rid myself of these dark thoughts. I would rather not think them, but how can I stop myself? How can I not think ahead to the day that I already dread, the day when I have to leave my precious baby behind, it is something I dread with every cell of my being.
Suddenly I hear a screech and I look down, but Pia is fast asleep, her pink lips open, her mouth dangling over my breast. The screech, it turns out, is coming from a huge white cat, whose green eyes meet mine when I look up! "Mamma mia what a beautiful cat that is!" I say, and Rico gets up and scoops the cat up by her middle, which is thick and bulging.
"Her name is Bianca," Rico says, petting her head. She purrs with satisfaction, and I think to myself, what a nice thing this cat is.
"I have never seen such a pretty cat," I say.
"Yes, and maybe you will want one of her kittens. Mama says she acts like 'una principessa!'" He looks at me with a knowing smile as if he can't imagine that I would say no to the offer of a kitten mothered by a princess!
"Oh well, perhaps," I say, and then I think, what will she eat? When only God knows how I will make money for my own meals, how can I possibly take on a cat?
At that moment Rico's Papa sticks his head in the barn. Bruno is a nice fellow, short and very strong. I have exchanged only a few words with him since I've been here.
"Rico ragazzo, what are you doing playing with that cat when you have chores mio figlio???"
"Oh I'm sorry, Bruno, he asked if he could keep me company?!!" I set Pia on one of the blankets and slowly push myself to my feet. Rico meanwhile, lets go of the cat. Bianca heads directly to where Pia lies.
"SCAT!!!" I yell, reaching down to chase away the cat. I scoop up the infant, who is now awake. "Stay away from this precious baby!"
Rico heads out of the barn, and I decide I am not going to hide here in the dark barn any longer. Nunzi is being ridiculous worrying that someone will see me here. And so what if they did? I have a right to travel wherever I please!
I follow the boy and his father into the barnyard. It's such a beautiful warm winter day, it's a sin to stay inside.
I set Pia against my shoulder and pat her back, a burp follows and then a splash of warm milk floods my neck and back.
"Ah Pia, e un bene che stasera non vado a un ballo elegante, profuma di latte materno!!!" Ah Pia, it's good I'm not going to a fancy dance tonight, smelling like mother's milk!"
I give the baby a squeeze and in that moment, the idea that I will soon be nursing my own baby carries me into the clouds! In no more than eight hours, Lina and Nunzi will bring him back to me!!!
***********
And when he does arrive, he is fast asleep. I hear the squeak of the cart's wheels, and I hurry out to the farmyard to greet them. Lina hands my baby down to me. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open.
I carry him inside. Lina follows. "So he nursed a lot while we rode here," she says, "and now that it's dark out, he probably won't want to wake up."
I open the blanket and touch his face very gently. I wait and wait, but he doesn't move a bit. I am a little nervous that something might be wrong with him.
"Oh no, do not worry," Lina says. "New babies do this. They sleep all the time in the beginning, except not in the middle of the night when they are supposed to!"
That's when it hits me: I haven't asked his name. By this time, we are inside. Lina and Nunzi and I are sitting at the table together.
"So what name did they give him?" The two women glance at each other but don't say anything.
"What? He doesn't have a name?"
"Oh no, he has a name alright," Nunzi says, "but you aren't going to like it, Fi." She is speaking quietly.
"Oh well how bad can it be? Tell me, you must tell me!"
Nunzi inhales. "His first name is Pasquale, a very respectable name. But his last name..." Nunzi shakes her head. "It's Orzo."
I blink. "Orzo?"
"Yes," Nunzi says. "You heard me correctly. They named him after the tiniest sort of macaroni."
The name flies around inside my head. I had heard that babies born out of wedlock were often given the name Esposito...which means exposed. Or Igcogniti ...which means unknown. But Orzo?
Then it hits me. "The priest. That name was his idea wasn't it? I'm sure it is! He had it in for me. And my baby."
"I'm not sure who is responsible. The municipal officials are full of themselves. And they are not above trying to humiliate people."
I stared down at my boy...Pasquale. Then I whispered to him. "Well, we will show them, won't we, you sweet little peanut! We will show everyone how great a man you will become, no matter that they have christened you with this foolish name!"
He opened his eyes. Dark little olives. He searched vacantly this way and that for a moment or two. And then he stared at me. And I smiled back, gazing down into that sweet little face.
Tuesday, September 26, 2023
Money, What's That?
It was a good thing Filomena never expected to inherit a lot money from Giovanni, because when all was said and done, her share of G's wealth was not enough to call even a small fortune. She did however, have more than enough to pay Lina.
The day that Tullio came to visit Filomena, taking with him her share of G's estate, he carried the piles of lira, tied in stacks of 100, in a small cloth sack he tied securely around his waist, beneath his jacket.
It was October 8th, 1870, a warm Saturday afternoon in Paola, and the light was a milky yellow. Tullio had no way of telling whether Filomena was at home, so he simply took a chance. Tullio rode a horse, a chocolate brown gelding, and tied the handsome animal to the wrought iron handle of Fi's front door.
He knocked. Once. Waited. Again. And then once more.
Mama answered. "Oh, Tullio, so nice to see you again!"
"Yes, Signora, it is lovely to see you also." The two embraced. "Is Filomena here this afternoon?"
"She is, but she is napping. Come in for espresso!"
So she made a pot, and peeled an orange, laying the juicy slices carefully on a plate so that the orange pieces vaguely resembled the rays of a sun!
"Time grows short until the baby arrives," he said.
Mama acknowledged his comment with a nod of her head.
Tullio, wearing one of his bright red and blue and yellow silk scarves, bowed forward and spoke quietly. "And so how is she, Signora?"
Mama held her head up. "I would say that she is doing extremely well." Mama smiled. "I know that because every afternoon, late in the day, she spends an hour or two lying on her bed, with her journal, and one of her glass pens!"
"Ah yes, the glass pens. Giovanni showed me the set of them before he gave them to her. Quite a lovely..." here he hesitated, making the decision not to say the word, wedding! "A truly lovely gift."
"I admire my daughter, Tullio. Others in her position might have given in to sadness, or something worse. But she has been able to lift her spirits."
"She is remarkable," he agreed.
And then both fell silent. Both were thinking the same thing: she is doing well now, but how would Filomena fare next month when she had to part with her son?
Tullio chewed slowly on a slice of the sweet orange. He took one more. After he swallowed that one, he spoke.
"I am here to give Filomena her share of G's estate. There will be some additional money after the sale of the house is complete, but I thought it a good idea that I deliver this portion as soon as possible."
"She will be very grateful," Mama says. "But you should know, Tullio, that she never speaks about the money. Ever. It's as if it didn't exist."
"That's admirable. And in this case, quite fortunate. Because Giovanni had far less money than I expected. For one thing, the house in San Lucido, which needed so much work, was heavily mortgaged. There is a buyer who is interested, but we must pay many bills once the sale is complete."
Mama nodded. "God knows, we live so simply, it is hard to imagine..." she shrugged, "the situation he was in."
"Well, just so you know, G was not in the habit of saving money! He lived off of the trust his mother had established for him, and he managed to spend it down quite low, what with his travels, and his constant desire to acquire paintings, and the fine way he had the San Lucido villa restored!"
Filomena was standing behind Tullio by now, and she managed to hear his last statements. Mama reached out to take Fi's hand and Tullio swiveled to face her. And then he stood quickly.
"Hello my dear Tullio," she said embracing him and kissing his face softly. She wobbled a few steps and lowered herself into a chair. "Are you here to tell me that Giovanni was dead broke?" She laughed. "I was half expecting that, because I know how much he liked to spend money!"
"I'm glad you are laughing, Fi," Tullio replied. "Honestly, I was dreading coming here with this sack that is only half full of lire." He lifted the white cloth bag and handed it over to Filomena. She set in on the table.
"You will find 20 bundles of lire, each bundle containing 100 bills."
"Ha!" Fi said, peering into the sack and then holding it open so Mama could see inside. "I promise you Tullio this is far more money than Mama and I have ever seen before!"
He nodded. "Yes. I understand. But honestly, I was hoping to give you ten times that! As I was telling your Mama, G had leveraged the villa at San Lucido and so his estate is worth far less than I realized. I have started to sell a variety of things, including the carriage that you rode in so often. I will be selling all of the paintings, and sculptures, too, except for one, which he wanted you to have."
"I'm pretty sure I know which one."
Fi pictured the statue: a mother, smiling, and holding a child to her breast. When Filomena first saw the sculpture at the villa, she was shocked that the woman's breast was bare. But over time she grew to love the piece.
"You must come to the villa sometime soon..."
"Oh yes," she laughed, placing a hand on her belly. "I guess it must be very soon. Getting there might be difficult however."
"I could offer you a horse, but...?"
"No, no, Nunzi has a cart, and there is a horse, although he has seen his better days. Nunzi says that she's certain that he will make it to Amantea at least one more time, whenever that turns out to be!" She patted her belly. "I haven't had a chance to tell you, Tullio, that I will be going there to have the baby."
Tullio, thinking about the delivery, suddenly looked a little embarrassed. "Well, Fi, you know I will be praying for you, and for the baby. May it be a very safe delivery, una consegna molta sicura!"
"Thank you dear friend."
He spoke tentatively. "You must be...a bit nervous?"
Fi shook her head. "Yes, but I will be safe, with Nunzi, and with Mama," here she put her hand into both of her mother's hands. "We will get through this together!"
Mama chimed in. "Yes, with God's will!"
Tullio chatted a few more minutes and then excused himself.
After he left, Fi picked up the sack of money. "We will need to find a hiding place," she said to her mother.
Mama smiled. She walked to the back wall of the kitchen and wiggled one large loose stone out of its position. "It will fit nicely in here, and no one will be the wiser!"
Fi stood and carried the sack to her mother. She handed it over.
"Don't you want to count it, Fi, or at least hold the bills in your hands?"
"No," Fi said, shrugging, "what does it matter? We must decide how much to pay Lina. But not today. Is that OK?"
Mama agreed. She slid the sack into the wall and replace the large stone.
Fi retreated to her bed, where she lay with her journal and a glass pen. It was that afternoon that she decided to write her baby a letter!
The day that Tullio came to visit Filomena, taking with him her share of G's estate, he carried the piles of lira, tied in stacks of 100, in a small cloth sack he tied securely around his waist, beneath his jacket.
He knocked. Once. Waited. Again. And then once more.
Mama answered. "Oh, Tullio, so nice to see you again!"
"Yes, Signora, it is lovely to see you also." The two embraced. "Is Filomena here this afternoon?"
"She is, but she is napping. Come in for espresso!"
So she made a pot, and peeled an orange, laying the juicy slices carefully on a plate so that the orange pieces vaguely resembled the rays of a sun!
"Time grows short until the baby arrives," he said.
Mama acknowledged his comment with a nod of her head.
Tullio, wearing one of his bright red and blue and yellow silk scarves, bowed forward and spoke quietly. "And so how is she, Signora?"
Mama held her head up. "I would say that she is doing extremely well." Mama smiled. "I know that because every afternoon, late in the day, she spends an hour or two lying on her bed, with her journal, and one of her glass pens!"
"Ah yes, the glass pens. Giovanni showed me the set of them before he gave them to her. Quite a lovely..." here he hesitated, making the decision not to say the word, wedding! "A truly lovely gift."
"I admire my daughter, Tullio. Others in her position might have given in to sadness, or something worse. But she has been able to lift her spirits."
"She is remarkable," he agreed.
And then both fell silent. Both were thinking the same thing: she is doing well now, but how would Filomena fare next month when she had to part with her son?
Tullio chewed slowly on a slice of the sweet orange. He took one more. After he swallowed that one, he spoke.
"I am here to give Filomena her share of G's estate. There will be some additional money after the sale of the house is complete, but I thought it a good idea that I deliver this portion as soon as possible."
"She will be very grateful," Mama says. "But you should know, Tullio, that she never speaks about the money. Ever. It's as if it didn't exist."
"That's admirable. And in this case, quite fortunate. Because Giovanni had far less money than I expected. For one thing, the house in San Lucido, which needed so much work, was heavily mortgaged. There is a buyer who is interested, but we must pay many bills once the sale is complete."
Mama nodded. "God knows, we live so simply, it is hard to imagine..." she shrugged, "the situation he was in."
"Well, just so you know, G was not in the habit of saving money! He lived off of the trust his mother had established for him, and he managed to spend it down quite low, what with his travels, and his constant desire to acquire paintings, and the fine way he had the San Lucido villa restored!"
Filomena was standing behind Tullio by now, and she managed to hear his last statements. Mama reached out to take Fi's hand and Tullio swiveled to face her. And then he stood quickly.
"Hello my dear Tullio," she said embracing him and kissing his face softly. She wobbled a few steps and lowered herself into a chair. "Are you here to tell me that Giovanni was dead broke?" She laughed. "I was half expecting that, because I know how much he liked to spend money!"
"I'm glad you are laughing, Fi," Tullio replied. "Honestly, I was dreading coming here with this sack that is only half full of lire." He lifted the white cloth bag and handed it over to Filomena. She set in on the table.
"You will find 20 bundles of lire, each bundle containing 100 bills."
"Ha!" Fi said, peering into the sack and then holding it open so Mama could see inside. "I promise you Tullio this is far more money than Mama and I have ever seen before!"
He nodded. "Yes. I understand. But honestly, I was hoping to give you ten times that! As I was telling your Mama, G had leveraged the villa at San Lucido and so his estate is worth far less than I realized. I have started to sell a variety of things, including the carriage that you rode in so often. I will be selling all of the paintings, and sculptures, too, except for one, which he wanted you to have."
"I'm pretty sure I know which one."
"You must come to the villa sometime soon..."
"Oh yes," she laughed, placing a hand on her belly. "I guess it must be very soon. Getting there might be difficult however."
"I could offer you a horse, but...?"
"No, no, Nunzi has a cart, and there is a horse, although he has seen his better days. Nunzi says that she's certain that he will make it to Amantea at least one more time, whenever that turns out to be!" She patted her belly. "I haven't had a chance to tell you, Tullio, that I will be going there to have the baby."
Tullio, thinking about the delivery, suddenly looked a little embarrassed. "Well, Fi, you know I will be praying for you, and for the baby. May it be a very safe delivery, una consegna molta sicura!"
"Thank you dear friend."
He spoke tentatively. "You must be...a bit nervous?"
Fi shook her head. "Yes, but I will be safe, with Nunzi, and with Mama," here she put her hand into both of her mother's hands. "We will get through this together!"
Mama chimed in. "Yes, with God's will!"
Tullio chatted a few more minutes and then excused himself.
After he left, Fi picked up the sack of money. "We will need to find a hiding place," she said to her mother.
Mama smiled. She walked to the back wall of the kitchen and wiggled one large loose stone out of its position. "It will fit nicely in here, and no one will be the wiser!"
Fi stood and carried the sack to her mother. She handed it over.
"Don't you want to count it, Fi, or at least hold the bills in your hands?"
"No," Fi said, shrugging, "what does it matter? We must decide how much to pay Lina. But not today. Is that OK?"
Mama agreed. She slid the sack into the wall and replace the large stone.
Fi retreated to her bed, where she lay with her journal and a glass pen. It was that afternoon that she decided to write her baby a letter!
For Fi, at last, It's Time
Filomena is standing beside a weathered grey fence, in the milky sunlight of a clear November day. She is holding a basket in one hand, and bracing the other hand beneath her bulging belly, cradling herself. She is curtained in her dark green dress that is shaped like a tent, a dress she made herself.
Soon. That's what Clementina, the midwife, said after she examined Filomena two afternoons ago. Filomena was lying on the kitchen table, her lower half bare, the table hardly big enough for her expanded body, her bare feet braced on each edge of the table.
"My dear girl, your baby's head is low, oh so low, and all lined up and ready to go!" Clementina, leaning over to face Filomena, whispered to her. "Your baby is coming soon. Maybe this week!"
That's all Nunzi had to hear! Nunzi who was right there in the kitchen, naturally, as she has been right at Filomena's side all along. Without Nunzi, how would Filomena possibly manage?
No matter.
"Let's get you packed," Nunzi said, helping Filomena off the table.
It took them no time at all to pack, as Filomena has only the green dress and a brown skirt and one other that is the dark blue color of the ocean. And a yellow blouse, ironically, that's almost exactly the shape of a priest's surplice.
Full and blousy. Every time the priest passed her in the street, Filomena, wearing the yellow blouse, would bow her head. Father Crudele would stop and stare at her as she walked by, that evil wrinkle in his brow. Filo would hurry along, keeping her head low and her walk steady.
Nunzi and Filomena left Paola about 1:00, and rode in the cart led by the bony brown mare. In the end, Mama stayed behind with a bad chest cold. "I want so much to be going with you, Filomena," she says, but her voice is hoarse and the congestion is heavy, making her feel weak. "Oh Mama, you will be with me, I promise you that!" Fi would embrace her mother, but fears that she too will get sick. After a long morning of riding, Fi and Nunzi were at Lina's farm in Amantea again. Lina who has seven children, including a brand new one, a sweet little peanut of an infant girl, named Pia, who is barely two weeks old.
Now, Filomena is standing by the fence. Nunzi, to whom Clementina has taught the basics of the art of midwifery, is inside drinking her espresso with Lina, whose baby is making slurping noises at her breast. Filomena was inside too, until Lina sent her outside after Fi tried unsuccessfully to nap.
Filo slowly approaches the chicken coop to collect the eggs. But she stops here, beside the fence, and she is staring into the pen: in one muddy corner is the gigantic sow known as Concetta, lying on her side. A litter of seven pink and muddy piggies are nursing, making noises not unlike those of baby Pia. Filomena smiles, and without thinking, she lifts her hand to her oversized breasts, which have swelled into ripe melons.
On the other side of the pen stand two ancient donkeys and a cow.
Now Lina's second youngest child, that curly-headed boy we call Rico, joins Filomena.
"Lina, can I collect the eggs with you?"
"Of course!" Filomena smiles at the enchanting little boy, and sets her hand on the warm curls of his head. She can't look at Rico without thinking the same thought over and over again: someday my son will grow this big and so much bigger. And Lina will let me see him as he grows! She knows that she ought not to think so far into the future, but somehow it helps her. It is a comfort to remind herself that life goes on beyond the climactic event she faces.
Dozens of chickens strut through the yard beside the fence.
"Do you want to show me how to collect the eggs again, sweetheart?" ("Vuoi mostrarmi come raccogliere le uova, tesoro?")
As the little boy takes her hand and leads her into the chicken coop, Filomena considers the word "uova," eggs, how it feels in her lips to say it. But then the smell of chicken shit takes Filo's attention, giving her stomach a twist.
She has to bend over slightly to get inside the coop. The top of her stomach presses up tightly against her chest.
Rico already has his hand in the stiff straw, pulling out an egg and laying it gently in Filo's basket. Filo does the same. They take turns. The warm eggs feel good in her hand. They move along, transferring eggs into the basket. A ray of light filters through the coop and lands on one of the chickens.
"Are there always this many eggs?" Filo asks the boy. He smiles. Two teeth are missing up top.
"Yes, sometimes even more," he says. "We can stop now because the basket is over half full. May I carry it?" She smiles and hands it over.
He pulls open the door of the coop and hurries back to the house. Filo, meanwhile, waddles slowly, noticing suddenly that her belly is tightening. Not like times before, when the pull was gentle.
But this time it's a dagger slicing across her insides. She catches her breath at the squeeze of pain -- una stretta di dolore. It feels like someone is tightening a burning rope across her gut. She holds her hand beneath her swollen womb, she feels a foot, a heel or an elbow poking into her tented dress.
The next pain takes her breath completely, she tries to massage her belly, she shoves her hand into the fiercely tight wall of agony and she cries out. Now the rope is steel on fire, twisting scorch of rope, just getting tighter and tighter.
Filo stops, and takes another breath. The pain is tighter still. "Oh my," she thinks, "I must tell..." Before she can say "Nunzi" the pain once again pulls her so tight she can't walk. She wonders: will I be able to get back to the house? She takes a tiny step and leans onto the fence. Holds on with both hands. Her breath is shallow. The pain isn't going away.
"NUNZI!" she cries. But will her voice carry inside? Filo is starting to panic, she cannot bear the scizzoring, it feels like nothing she has experienced before, like she is being slice in two, the saw going back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster, she is completely torn below her belly. She cries out again for Nunzi but her voice is weaker.
She decides. "I must...get...back...to..." She lets go of the fence and takes a step, wobbling. But then her body decides. She collapses into the soft straw. On both hands, then her side, fetal position with her fetus. She cries: "Nunzi, Nunzi, Nunzi..."
She lies there, thinking she might die, all alone out here, where is Nunzi, why is she...and then the pain subsides. Filo inhales slowly. After several moments, she pushes up to her hands and knees and now she is crying, "Someone please, dear Mary, please help me up!" She stays that way, on hands and knees, and then lifts herself so she is kneeling. She clasps her hands in prayer and says the Hail Mary three times.
Slowly, she stands. And takes a step. And another. She is four or five steps from the door, so close, I've got to make it I can I can I can, and she is at the door.
But before she can open it, the hot knife is back, slashing and slicing again and when she is collapsing this time, she hits the door with a thump.
With her last bit of energy, she raises her voice to scream "HELLLLLLLP ME PLEASE HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!" (Aituami, per fravore, aiutami, aiutami, per favore!"
The door opens, and Filo falls, half inside and half outside. Nunzi and Lina each lift a shoulder, and pull her across the floor, where Filomena is in more pain than she ever knew possible, the bottom half of her feels like it will explode, and now her legs spread, water tinged with blood is oozing.
Lina sets out to boil a kettle of water, but there isn't time. Filo, now lying right inside the door, her face wet and writhing in pain, has her legs spread. Nunzi is kneeling, and reaching and catching a dark hairy head, and soon one red shoulder, and then the other, and finally the whole skinny body is wiggling and slipping onto the green tent of a dress that looks like grass to greet Filo's baby.
Soon. That's what Clementina, the midwife, said after she examined Filomena two afternoons ago. Filomena was lying on the kitchen table, her lower half bare, the table hardly big enough for her expanded body, her bare feet braced on each edge of the table.
"My dear girl, your baby's head is low, oh so low, and all lined up and ready to go!" Clementina, leaning over to face Filomena, whispered to her. "Your baby is coming soon. Maybe this week!"
That's all Nunzi had to hear! Nunzi who was right there in the kitchen, naturally, as she has been right at Filomena's side all along. Without Nunzi, how would Filomena possibly manage?
No matter.
"Let's get you packed," Nunzi said, helping Filomena off the table.
It took them no time at all to pack, as Filomena has only the green dress and a brown skirt and one other that is the dark blue color of the ocean. And a yellow blouse, ironically, that's almost exactly the shape of a priest's surplice.
Nunzi and Filomena left Paola about 1:00, and rode in the cart led by the bony brown mare. In the end, Mama stayed behind with a bad chest cold. "I want so much to be going with you, Filomena," she says, but her voice is hoarse and the congestion is heavy, making her feel weak. "Oh Mama, you will be with me, I promise you that!" Fi would embrace her mother, but fears that she too will get sick. After a long morning of riding, Fi and Nunzi were at Lina's farm in Amantea again. Lina who has seven children, including a brand new one, a sweet little peanut of an infant girl, named Pia, who is barely two weeks old.
Now, Filomena is standing by the fence. Nunzi, to whom Clementina has taught the basics of the art of midwifery, is inside drinking her espresso with Lina, whose baby is making slurping noises at her breast. Filomena was inside too, until Lina sent her outside after Fi tried unsuccessfully to nap.
Filo slowly approaches the chicken coop to collect the eggs. But she stops here, beside the fence, and she is staring into the pen: in one muddy corner is the gigantic sow known as Concetta, lying on her side. A litter of seven pink and muddy piggies are nursing, making noises not unlike those of baby Pia. Filomena smiles, and without thinking, she lifts her hand to her oversized breasts, which have swelled into ripe melons.
On the other side of the pen stand two ancient donkeys and a cow.
Now Lina's second youngest child, that curly-headed boy we call Rico, joins Filomena.
"Lina, can I collect the eggs with you?"
"Of course!" Filomena smiles at the enchanting little boy, and sets her hand on the warm curls of his head. She can't look at Rico without thinking the same thought over and over again: someday my son will grow this big and so much bigger. And Lina will let me see him as he grows! She knows that she ought not to think so far into the future, but somehow it helps her. It is a comfort to remind herself that life goes on beyond the climactic event she faces.
Dozens of chickens strut through the yard beside the fence.
"Do you want to show me how to collect the eggs again, sweetheart?" ("Vuoi mostrarmi come raccogliere le uova, tesoro?")
As the little boy takes her hand and leads her into the chicken coop, Filomena considers the word "uova," eggs, how it feels in her lips to say it. But then the smell of chicken shit takes Filo's attention, giving her stomach a twist.
She has to bend over slightly to get inside the coop. The top of her stomach presses up tightly against her chest.
Rico already has his hand in the stiff straw, pulling out an egg and laying it gently in Filo's basket. Filo does the same. They take turns. The warm eggs feel good in her hand. They move along, transferring eggs into the basket. A ray of light filters through the coop and lands on one of the chickens.
"Are there always this many eggs?" Filo asks the boy. He smiles. Two teeth are missing up top.
"Yes, sometimes even more," he says. "We can stop now because the basket is over half full. May I carry it?" She smiles and hands it over.
He pulls open the door of the coop and hurries back to the house. Filo, meanwhile, waddles slowly, noticing suddenly that her belly is tightening. Not like times before, when the pull was gentle.
But this time it's a dagger slicing across her insides. She catches her breath at the squeeze of pain -- una stretta di dolore. It feels like someone is tightening a burning rope across her gut. She holds her hand beneath her swollen womb, she feels a foot, a heel or an elbow poking into her tented dress.
Filo stops, and takes another breath. The pain is tighter still. "Oh my," she thinks, "I must tell..." Before she can say "Nunzi" the pain once again pulls her so tight she can't walk. She wonders: will I be able to get back to the house? She takes a tiny step and leans onto the fence. Holds on with both hands. Her breath is shallow. The pain isn't going away.
"NUNZI!" she cries. But will her voice carry inside? Filo is starting to panic, she cannot bear the scizzoring, it feels like nothing she has experienced before, like she is being slice in two, the saw going back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster, she is completely torn below her belly. She cries out again for Nunzi but her voice is weaker.
She decides. "I must...get...back...to..." She lets go of the fence and takes a step, wobbling. But then her body decides. She collapses into the soft straw. On both hands, then her side, fetal position with her fetus. She cries: "Nunzi, Nunzi, Nunzi..."
She lies there, thinking she might die, all alone out here, where is Nunzi, why is she...and then the pain subsides. Filo inhales slowly. After several moments, she pushes up to her hands and knees and now she is crying, "Someone please, dear Mary, please help me up!" She stays that way, on hands and knees, and then lifts herself so she is kneeling. She clasps her hands in prayer and says the Hail Mary three times.
Slowly, she stands. And takes a step. And another. She is four or five steps from the door, so close, I've got to make it I can I can I can, and she is at the door.
But before she can open it, the hot knife is back, slashing and slicing again and when she is collapsing this time, she hits the door with a thump.
With her last bit of energy, she raises her voice to scream "HELLLLLLLP ME PLEASE HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!" (Aituami, per fravore, aiutami, aiutami, per favore!"
The door opens, and Filo falls, half inside and half outside. Nunzi and Lina each lift a shoulder, and pull her across the floor, where Filomena is in more pain than she ever knew possible, the bottom half of her feels like it will explode, and now her legs spread, water tinged with blood is oozing.
Lina sets out to boil a kettle of water, but there isn't time. Filo, now lying right inside the door, her face wet and writhing in pain, has her legs spread. Nunzi is kneeling, and reaching and catching a dark hairy head, and soon one red shoulder, and then the other, and finally the whole skinny body is wiggling and slipping onto the green tent of a dress that looks like grass to greet Filo's baby.
Tuesday, September 12, 2023
Craving Anchovies
Scarcely a week later, Nunzi and Mama and I took a long carriage ride to Amantea to meet Adelina. I wasn't feeling so chipper that morning. After I had my coffee and some bread and cheese, heartburn roared up inside my chest.
"Mama, perhaps you should go meet her without me," I said, rubbing the flat of my hand in circles close around my heart. "I am on fire."
My mother gazed at me steadily. "Do you really think Nunzi and I should see Adelina on our own Fi?"
"Oh, well, maybe not." My hand came to rest on my belly. "It's just that I've got such wicked heartburn again."
"Ah, Fi, what did I tell you, this will be happening now, more and more. How about some baking soda?"
I wrinkled up my nose. "Oh, I suppose I should. Hate the taste though."
Mama chuckled. "Oh it's a small price to pay for..." And then she stopped, realizing that she had very stupidly been about to say 'it's a small price to pay for a baby!'
She frowned, shook her head. Reaching to a shelf, she took down a small box, and scooped out a tiny spoonful of white powder. She stirred the powder into a cup of water.
"You ought to sip this slowly," she said. "Now it's time for me to get dressed."
I swallowed as much of the milky water as I could tolerate. I was getting to the point that I hated being pregnant. Along with heartburn, I had varicose veins -- "vene varicosa" -- lumpy blue lines bulging and snaking down both my legs. And I had backaches. And slippery moods, my emotions sliding up and down with no warning.
Mama was back, ready to go. "Fi, Nunzi will be waiting for us."
"I'm still drinking the baking soda."
She gazed at me. "I think you are stalling."
I shrugged. "Perhaps." I chugged down the rest of the awful-tasting liquid.
"We've been through this Fi. You know what will happen to your baby if he goes to the ospizia!"
The baby's foot, or was it his elbow, poked up against my navel and then the bump scooted over to the right side. My excitement about the squirming little creature inside me sometimes gave way to desperation. In those moments, all I could think about was how the baby would be wrenched from me as soon as I delivered him. How could I keep my spirits up in the face of that certainty?
I put both hands on my belly. The only way I can go forward is to keep telling myself that if I don't give the baby to someone like Lina, then my precious son will end up in a place where he will be doomed!
But more and more, I keep wondering what kind of life awaits me after the delivery? Is there anything for me on the horizon?
I sighed loudly. "Give me five minutes," I said, and I headed into my bedroom.
*******
Thanks to Tullio, who was still living at G's house in San Lucido, helping to make arrangements to sell the property, Mama and Nunzi and I traveled in comfort. Tullio had arranged for a carriage and two horses to pick us up at the fountain. Nunzi and Mama and I shared one coach seat. It was a lovely down the the coastline. The sun was bright but there was a pleasant breeze off the water, so it wasn't too warm.
The steady clip clop of the horses was reassuring. I kept closing my eyes and imagining that Giovanni was sitting there beside me, as he had been so often before. It was only about two weeks ago that he died and I was still smarting. I kept trying to absorb the fact that he was gone, for good. But I couldn't get myself to believe it. Tullio kept telling me that I would be getting a "substantial" pot of money. But so far I had seen not one lira.
My mother was talking to me now and I wasn't paying attention. I looked up. "So sorry Mama, but I was thinking about Giovanni."
"Of course, I understand, mia figlia preziosa. He was a good man."
"I wonder what he would say about this idea, of me handing the baby over to someone we hardly know."
"Now Fi, you should not be thinking that way," Nunzi said, slipping into that voice she uses to lecture me. "Even if Giovanni had lived, you were still going to have to give the baby away. So don't go spinning any fantastic stories about what Giovanni was going to do to fix the situation."
I said nothing. What was the point? G was gone, and now I was on my own.
Mama had packed bread and cheese and some figs, and a few kilometers before we arrived in Diamante, she handed the food to Nunzi and me. I was thirsty, and my back hurt, and my legs were starting to feel numb.
Thankfully, we were very close. Nunzi instructed the driver, whose named was Filipo, that we had come to the road where we were supposed to fork off to the left, away from the coast. It was a rough road, with lots of sizable rocks, and I felt each and every bump, as the baby went bouncing up and down, rocking hard inside me.
"Oof, I will be glad to get there," I said.
"Not far now Fi," Nunzi said. "My husband said we only go about two kilometers up this road."
When the farm came into view, I wasn't overly impressed, at least not at first. There was a small stucco house, and another building that looked to be a barn.
We stepped down into a thin layer of straw, which had been scattered over the hardened mud in this section of the farmyard. As I descended with Filipo holding my hand, I stared into a pen with four gigantic hogs, two of which were completely slopped over with wet mud.
For some reason I could not explain, the pig pen brought a smile to my face. And then I noticed the two grey and white horses, and a beautiful cinnamon-colored dog who came right up to me. I started immediately to pet him, and he didn't leave my side the entire afternoon.
Also present was a little boy who looked to be about seven years old. Curly black hair and not shy.
"Bon giorno, io sono Rico," he greeted us. "Please can I show you the chicken coop?"
I glanced at Nunzi and then back at Rico. "Bongiorno, Rico, you know, Rico, I would love to see the chickens, but I am so very thirsty, and a bit tired from our journey, so could we look at them later after we visit with your mother?"
He nodded. "Mama is inside," he said, "I will show you. And so we followed him. Soon enough we were inside the simple farmhouse. Adelina walked right up to me. She was wearing a triangular white kerchief, tied around her head, knotted in back. Black curls poked out over her forehead.
This woman Adelina might be the tiniest person I've ever seen. I am not much over five feet, but she comes barely up to my shoulder. Like me, she had a large belly, and she held one hand beneath her bulge.
"Filomena, I have heard so many wonderful things about you," she said, her tone soft and kindly.
I nodded. "Thank you, Adelina."
"Oh please. My friends and loved ones all call me Lina! You must call me Lina too!"
I tried to smile but it wasn't convincing. I was going to say that Nunzi called her a saint, but for some reason I held back. I was feeling so many emotions swirling inside me, and all of them pointed into a well of sadness. No matter how special Lina turned out to be, I did not want to see my child land in her arms. Or in anyone else's for that matter.
And yet, I didn't want to see any harm come to my baby in the awful ospizia. This was the terrible choice that I faced. And now, confronted with the flesh and blood reality of this plump little woman, anger and sadness started to chase each other around and around in my mind, going so fast that I was starting to feel dizzy.
Nunzi introduced Lina to Mama, and without a moment's hesitation, Mama stepped forward and embraced the woman, whose plump body seemed to want to spill out of the tight green dress she wore. "Mille grazie," Mama said in a quiet voice and that just made me more angry. How dare Mama thank this woman who was going to steal from me the baby that I had started calling "my little squash," -- "la mia piccola zucca!"
"Please, sit down," she said. The three of us took seats around the kitchen table, and soon Giovanna was pouring espresso.
"May I have water?" I asked.
"Certainly," she said, and she poured me a cup.
Lina had baked panettone in honor of our visit and now she set a plate containing several thick slices on the table. Fresh butter too. We busied ourselves eating for a few minutes. Rico sat on his mother's knee and he was actually taller than she was.
Lina spoke first.
"Tell me Filomena how have you been feeling?"
"Well, mostly now, I am OK, since I no longer throw up. But I have very bad heartburn and lumpy blue veins on my legs. And oh the backaches..." I shrugged.
I thought I should ask her a question, but what? The ones in my mind were not at all the kind that I was supposed to ask: so how will you manage to love my son, who will be child number seven for you? How is it you are so fortunate to have all these children while I will be left with none? How will my baby possibly compete for affection with all of your brood, including your new little one? The three women around me began conversing, in a lively and friendly way, and I found myself without anything to say. Nothing at all to contribute. I started feeling worse and worse. More and more angry. Why had I come? Why hadn't I done what I originally suggested? Why hadn't I let Mama come without me? Or Nunzi? Let one of them figure out who would be the best Mama for my precious little zucca.
Soon I was clasping my hands together beneath my belly, and praying silently to the Virgin, as I always do in times of confusion and crisis. "Help me Mary," I said, over and over again. "Help me somehow please?" When Lina spoke to me next I didn't hear her at first.
"Do you need to lie down Filomena?"
All was silent. My eyes snapped open.
"Can I get you something else for you, Filomena? Or would you like to lie down for a while?"
"Oh...no..no, I am OK, thank you!" But as a matter of fact, I was suddenly very very hungry. The panettone was not enough and now I spoke out.
"But actually, I wonder if...I am suddenly craving anchovies," I said, and everyone started laughing. At first, I was confused. What was so funny?
"I guess you didn't hear me when I was speaking before," Lina said, "but I was telling your Mama and Nunzi that I have eaten probably two tons of anchovies in the last seven months. I have plenty of anchovies I can give you! And cheese and lots of salami, too."
She stood up. Rico stood too and then he came and whispered in my ear: "Is it time for me to take you to see the chickens?" He stepped back. He was an adorable little boy and suddenly I felt joy and sadness all wrapped in one. My little squash would some day grow up to be sweet like this child. And perhaps, I would be able to visit him. Oh but would he know me?!
I didn't want to start crying and I tried so hard to hide my tears. But then Rico hugged me and I melted. I cried. Hard! Nunzi walked me outdoors for some fresh air. I cried some more. She hugged me and I cried even harder.
After a while, though, I stopped.
We went back inside Lina's house and I ate a huge plate of anchovies. Along with thick slices of cheese and bread and salami. And more panettone. And more of Nunzi's figs!
The ladies were so glad to see me devouring all this food!
"It's good you are eating," Lina said, giving me that cheerful smile of hers, one that makes her face glow. She got up from the table and disappeared and soon she was back with something in her hands.
"This is for you, Filomena," she said softly. She held it aloft. It was a beautiful crocheted shawl,
made out of cotton. It was white, with pale blue flowers you couldn't see unless you looked very closely. The design was intricate and so unusual. Lina came around the table and set it gently over my shoulders. "I made one for myself too. I hope you will wear this now that it's almost time for you to have the baby."
"Oh, this is just beautiful, and so kind of you, Lina," I said. Mama admired the handiwork, and then she spoke.
"Lina, how do you find time to crochet with all of your family pulling on you?" "Ah, well, Lucia, I set aside time every day to crochet because otherwise I go...pazza!
She nodded, and smiled again. And then I realized -- she had the same kind of electric smile that my dear Giovanni had. A smile that wraps itself around your heart and holds you tight. Now she leaned toward me.
"I hope this shawl will offer comfort to you," she said in a soft voice. "You must take good care of yourself, going forward."
Now I smiled back at her. "Thank you for saying that Lina. Thank you for being so kind and thoughtful!"
Conversation began again. Lina talked about how she had cared for each of her children as newborns in a slow and patient way. "I just go day by day, and sometimes, when they cry and cry, then I go minute by minute," she said. She pointed to the corner. "I am fortunate to have a rocking chair," she said. "One that fits my backside!" She laughs out loud at herself. "There I sit, in 'il dondolo,' the rocker, with the baby, just letting the minutes and hours go by."
Besides her family, Lina says she has many close friends who she can call on for help during what she calls her "convalescenza postnatale," her "post natal convalesence."
"Filomena, there are many women here who will help me be a good mother to my baby and to yours too! And if you can, I would welcome you to be here at the same time."
My eyes widened. "I didn't...I wasn't expecting to...I mean, I didn't know I oould...be here," I said.
Lina reached over and squeezed my hand. "You are welcome to come," she said. "For some time in the beginning, we can both be the baby's mothers!"
I glanced at Nunzi, who looked to be as surprised as I was.
"Can I...will this be...permitted?" I said to Nunzi.
"Well I...I don't know...but I don't see why not," Nunzi said. "As long as you are not in Paola with the baby...then, I mean no one will know where you are, will they? So I think, yes, maybe you can be here, for a while." Now she looked to Lina. "How long are you talking about exactly? A month?"
Lina shrugged. Suddenly she looked to me to resemble a...a round little....squash! Una Zucca de Lungo Verde! A squat green squash!
"A month, or two, or even three. Filomena can stay with us here on the farm, and then later, she can visit, and while he is going to be my baby for the purposes of the church and il municipio, I will be his mother, yes, but Fi will also be his mother too. Only we need know the truth!!!"
I felt the shawl covering my shoulders now. I felt it holding me. I felt Giovanna holding me, with love. I felt her holding all of my feelings! Somehow I knew that this exquisite little woman would help me get through the ordeal that I faced!
Before we left, Rico took me outside to the chicken coop. It smelled awful. And the sound of the chickens squawking was so loud that I covered my ears.
Rico had a basket with him and he collected some eggs, holding them so gently and lovingly in his hands. Then he led me back to the house, with his warm little hand holding mine.
I could get used to life here on Lina's farm.
It wasn't until we were sitting in the carriage preparing to leave, with Lina and her son waving to us, when it hit me: there had been not a word spoken about money!
"Oh dear," I say, and Nunzi turns to me with a worried look.
"What? Are you feeling OK, Fi?"
"Yes, yes, but Nunzi, we never discussed...paying Lina," I said.
"You are not to worry about that," Nunzi said.
"But don't we need to talk to her, to make an arrangement, to find out how much she wants?"
"I spoke to her when you were getting to know the chickens with Rico."
"Oh. So, what did you decide?"
"Let's just say, Fi, that Lina is comfortable with whatever you can pay."
I sat there. The carriage was moving now. Ah, we were riding over the bumps again.
"But what if...what if there is no money? I mean, I haven't seen anything yet."
"Not to worry Fi." Nunzi turned to me and smiled. "Lina says she is prepared to love your child, no matter if there is money."
My eyes widened. "She really is a very special person, just as you said."
Nunzi kept smiling, and nodded her head. "Yes. Oh yes, Fi, that's for sure."
I closed my eyes and pulled the cotton shawl tighter around me. And then I felt the little squash do some kind of a flip, or maybe it was just a giant stretch. All I know is that I had to lean my head and my chest backward to make room for him to move!
At that moment, the carriage rocked side to side as we bumped up and over another hole in the road. "Oh my," I said. I breathed steadily, trying to ready myself for the long trip home.
"Mama, perhaps you should go meet her without me," I said, rubbing the flat of my hand in circles close around my heart. "I am on fire."
"Oh, well, maybe not." My hand came to rest on my belly. "It's just that I've got such wicked heartburn again."
"Ah, Fi, what did I tell you, this will be happening now, more and more. How about some baking soda?"
I wrinkled up my nose. "Oh, I suppose I should. Hate the taste though."
Mama chuckled. "Oh it's a small price to pay for..." And then she stopped, realizing that she had very stupidly been about to say 'it's a small price to pay for a baby!'
She frowned, shook her head. Reaching to a shelf, she took down a small box, and scooped out a tiny spoonful of white powder. She stirred the powder into a cup of water.
"You ought to sip this slowly," she said. "Now it's time for me to get dressed."
I swallowed as much of the milky water as I could tolerate. I was getting to the point that I hated being pregnant. Along with heartburn, I had varicose veins -- "vene varicosa" -- lumpy blue lines bulging and snaking down both my legs. And I had backaches. And slippery moods, my emotions sliding up and down with no warning.
Mama was back, ready to go. "Fi, Nunzi will be waiting for us."
"I'm still drinking the baking soda."
She gazed at me. "I think you are stalling."
I shrugged. "Perhaps." I chugged down the rest of the awful-tasting liquid.
"We've been through this Fi. You know what will happen to your baby if he goes to the ospizia!"
The baby's foot, or was it his elbow, poked up against my navel and then the bump scooted over to the right side. My excitement about the squirming little creature inside me sometimes gave way to desperation. In those moments, all I could think about was how the baby would be wrenched from me as soon as I delivered him. How could I keep my spirits up in the face of that certainty?
I put both hands on my belly. The only way I can go forward is to keep telling myself that if I don't give the baby to someone like Lina, then my precious son will end up in a place where he will be doomed!
But more and more, I keep wondering what kind of life awaits me after the delivery? Is there anything for me on the horizon?
I sighed loudly. "Give me five minutes," I said, and I headed into my bedroom.
*******
Thanks to Tullio, who was still living at G's house in San Lucido, helping to make arrangements to sell the property, Mama and Nunzi and I traveled in comfort. Tullio had arranged for a carriage and two horses to pick us up at the fountain. Nunzi and Mama and I shared one coach seat. It was a lovely down the the coastline. The sun was bright but there was a pleasant breeze off the water, so it wasn't too warm.
The steady clip clop of the horses was reassuring. I kept closing my eyes and imagining that Giovanni was sitting there beside me, as he had been so often before. It was only about two weeks ago that he died and I was still smarting. I kept trying to absorb the fact that he was gone, for good. But I couldn't get myself to believe it. Tullio kept telling me that I would be getting a "substantial" pot of money. But so far I had seen not one lira.
My mother was talking to me now and I wasn't paying attention. I looked up. "So sorry Mama, but I was thinking about Giovanni."
"Of course, I understand, mia figlia preziosa. He was a good man."
"I wonder what he would say about this idea, of me handing the baby over to someone we hardly know."
"Now Fi, you should not be thinking that way," Nunzi said, slipping into that voice she uses to lecture me. "Even if Giovanni had lived, you were still going to have to give the baby away. So don't go spinning any fantastic stories about what Giovanni was going to do to fix the situation."
I said nothing. What was the point? G was gone, and now I was on my own.
Mama had packed bread and cheese and some figs, and a few kilometers before we arrived in Diamante, she handed the food to Nunzi and me. I was thirsty, and my back hurt, and my legs were starting to feel numb.
Thankfully, we were very close. Nunzi instructed the driver, whose named was Filipo, that we had come to the road where we were supposed to fork off to the left, away from the coast. It was a rough road, with lots of sizable rocks, and I felt each and every bump, as the baby went bouncing up and down, rocking hard inside me.
"Oof, I will be glad to get there," I said.
"Not far now Fi," Nunzi said. "My husband said we only go about two kilometers up this road."
When the farm came into view, I wasn't overly impressed, at least not at first. There was a small stucco house, and another building that looked to be a barn.
We stepped down into a thin layer of straw, which had been scattered over the hardened mud in this section of the farmyard. As I descended with Filipo holding my hand, I stared into a pen with four gigantic hogs, two of which were completely slopped over with wet mud.
For some reason I could not explain, the pig pen brought a smile to my face. And then I noticed the two grey and white horses, and a beautiful cinnamon-colored dog who came right up to me. I started immediately to pet him, and he didn't leave my side the entire afternoon.
Also present was a little boy who looked to be about seven years old. Curly black hair and not shy.
"Bon giorno, io sono Rico," he greeted us. "Please can I show you the chicken coop?"
I glanced at Nunzi and then back at Rico. "Bongiorno, Rico, you know, Rico, I would love to see the chickens, but I am so very thirsty, and a bit tired from our journey, so could we look at them later after we visit with your mother?"
He nodded. "Mama is inside," he said, "I will show you. And so we followed him. Soon enough we were inside the simple farmhouse. Adelina walked right up to me. She was wearing a triangular white kerchief, tied around her head, knotted in back. Black curls poked out over her forehead.
This woman Adelina might be the tiniest person I've ever seen. I am not much over five feet, but she comes barely up to my shoulder. Like me, she had a large belly, and she held one hand beneath her bulge.
"Filomena, I have heard so many wonderful things about you," she said, her tone soft and kindly.
I nodded. "Thank you, Adelina."
"Oh please. My friends and loved ones all call me Lina! You must call me Lina too!"
I tried to smile but it wasn't convincing. I was going to say that Nunzi called her a saint, but for some reason I held back. I was feeling so many emotions swirling inside me, and all of them pointed into a well of sadness. No matter how special Lina turned out to be, I did not want to see my child land in her arms. Or in anyone else's for that matter.
And yet, I didn't want to see any harm come to my baby in the awful ospizia. This was the terrible choice that I faced. And now, confronted with the flesh and blood reality of this plump little woman, anger and sadness started to chase each other around and around in my mind, going so fast that I was starting to feel dizzy.
Nunzi introduced Lina to Mama, and without a moment's hesitation, Mama stepped forward and embraced the woman, whose plump body seemed to want to spill out of the tight green dress she wore. "Mille grazie," Mama said in a quiet voice and that just made me more angry. How dare Mama thank this woman who was going to steal from me the baby that I had started calling "my little squash," -- "la mia piccola zucca!"
"Please, sit down," she said. The three of us took seats around the kitchen table, and soon Giovanna was pouring espresso.
"May I have water?" I asked.
"Certainly," she said, and she poured me a cup.
Lina had baked panettone in honor of our visit and now she set a plate containing several thick slices on the table. Fresh butter too. We busied ourselves eating for a few minutes. Rico sat on his mother's knee and he was actually taller than she was.
Lina spoke first.
"Tell me Filomena how have you been feeling?"
"Well, mostly now, I am OK, since I no longer throw up. But I have very bad heartburn and lumpy blue veins on my legs. And oh the backaches..." I shrugged.
I thought I should ask her a question, but what? The ones in my mind were not at all the kind that I was supposed to ask: so how will you manage to love my son, who will be child number seven for you? How is it you are so fortunate to have all these children while I will be left with none? How will my baby possibly compete for affection with all of your brood, including your new little one? The three women around me began conversing, in a lively and friendly way, and I found myself without anything to say. Nothing at all to contribute. I started feeling worse and worse. More and more angry. Why had I come? Why hadn't I done what I originally suggested? Why hadn't I let Mama come without me? Or Nunzi? Let one of them figure out who would be the best Mama for my precious little zucca.
Soon I was clasping my hands together beneath my belly, and praying silently to the Virgin, as I always do in times of confusion and crisis. "Help me Mary," I said, over and over again. "Help me somehow please?" When Lina spoke to me next I didn't hear her at first.
"Do you need to lie down Filomena?"
All was silent. My eyes snapped open.
"Can I get you something else for you, Filomena? Or would you like to lie down for a while?"
"Oh...no..no, I am OK, thank you!" But as a matter of fact, I was suddenly very very hungry. The panettone was not enough and now I spoke out.
"But actually, I wonder if...I am suddenly craving anchovies," I said, and everyone started laughing. At first, I was confused. What was so funny?
"I guess you didn't hear me when I was speaking before," Lina said, "but I was telling your Mama and Nunzi that I have eaten probably two tons of anchovies in the last seven months. I have plenty of anchovies I can give you! And cheese and lots of salami, too."
She stood up. Rico stood too and then he came and whispered in my ear: "Is it time for me to take you to see the chickens?" He stepped back. He was an adorable little boy and suddenly I felt joy and sadness all wrapped in one. My little squash would some day grow up to be sweet like this child. And perhaps, I would be able to visit him. Oh but would he know me?!
I didn't want to start crying and I tried so hard to hide my tears. But then Rico hugged me and I melted. I cried. Hard! Nunzi walked me outdoors for some fresh air. I cried some more. She hugged me and I cried even harder.
After a while, though, I stopped.
We went back inside Lina's house and I ate a huge plate of anchovies. Along with thick slices of cheese and bread and salami. And more panettone. And more of Nunzi's figs!
The ladies were so glad to see me devouring all this food!
"It's good you are eating," Lina said, giving me that cheerful smile of hers, one that makes her face glow. She got up from the table and disappeared and soon she was back with something in her hands.
"This is for you, Filomena," she said softly. She held it aloft. It was a beautiful crocheted shawl,
"Oh, this is just beautiful, and so kind of you, Lina," I said. Mama admired the handiwork, and then she spoke.
"Lina, how do you find time to crochet with all of your family pulling on you?" "Ah, well, Lucia, I set aside time every day to crochet because otherwise I go...pazza!
She nodded, and smiled again. And then I realized -- she had the same kind of electric smile that my dear Giovanni had. A smile that wraps itself around your heart and holds you tight. Now she leaned toward me.
"I hope this shawl will offer comfort to you," she said in a soft voice. "You must take good care of yourself, going forward."
Now I smiled back at her. "Thank you for saying that Lina. Thank you for being so kind and thoughtful!"
Conversation began again. Lina talked about how she had cared for each of her children as newborns in a slow and patient way. "I just go day by day, and sometimes, when they cry and cry, then I go minute by minute," she said. She pointed to the corner. "I am fortunate to have a rocking chair," she said. "One that fits my backside!" She laughs out loud at herself. "There I sit, in 'il dondolo,' the rocker, with the baby, just letting the minutes and hours go by."
Besides her family, Lina says she has many close friends who she can call on for help during what she calls her "convalescenza postnatale," her "post natal convalesence."
"Filomena, there are many women here who will help me be a good mother to my baby and to yours too! And if you can, I would welcome you to be here at the same time."
My eyes widened. "I didn't...I wasn't expecting to...I mean, I didn't know I oould...be here," I said.
Lina reached over and squeezed my hand. "You are welcome to come," she said. "For some time in the beginning, we can both be the baby's mothers!"
I glanced at Nunzi, who looked to be as surprised as I was.
"Can I...will this be...permitted?" I said to Nunzi.
"Well I...I don't know...but I don't see why not," Nunzi said. "As long as you are not in Paola with the baby...then, I mean no one will know where you are, will they? So I think, yes, maybe you can be here, for a while." Now she looked to Lina. "How long are you talking about exactly? A month?"
Lina shrugged. Suddenly she looked to me to resemble a...a round little....squash! Una Zucca de Lungo Verde! A squat green squash!
I felt the shawl covering my shoulders now. I felt it holding me. I felt Giovanna holding me, with love. I felt her holding all of my feelings! Somehow I knew that this exquisite little woman would help me get through the ordeal that I faced!
Before we left, Rico took me outside to the chicken coop. It smelled awful. And the sound of the chickens squawking was so loud that I covered my ears.
Rico had a basket with him and he collected some eggs, holding them so gently and lovingly in his hands. Then he led me back to the house, with his warm little hand holding mine.
I could get used to life here on Lina's farm.
It wasn't until we were sitting in the carriage preparing to leave, with Lina and her son waving to us, when it hit me: there had been not a word spoken about money!
"Oh dear," I say, and Nunzi turns to me with a worried look.
"What? Are you feeling OK, Fi?"
"Yes, yes, but Nunzi, we never discussed...paying Lina," I said.
"You are not to worry about that," Nunzi said.
"But don't we need to talk to her, to make an arrangement, to find out how much she wants?"
"I spoke to her when you were getting to know the chickens with Rico."
"Oh. So, what did you decide?"
"Let's just say, Fi, that Lina is comfortable with whatever you can pay."
I sat there. The carriage was moving now. Ah, we were riding over the bumps again.
"But what if...what if there is no money? I mean, I haven't seen anything yet."
"Not to worry Fi." Nunzi turned to me and smiled. "Lina says she is prepared to love your child, no matter if there is money."
My eyes widened. "She really is a very special person, just as you said."
Nunzi kept smiling, and nodded her head. "Yes. Oh yes, Fi, that's for sure."
I closed my eyes and pulled the cotton shawl tighter around me. And then I felt the little squash do some kind of a flip, or maybe it was just a giant stretch. All I know is that I had to lean my head and my chest backward to make room for him to move!
At that moment, the carriage rocked side to side as we bumped up and over another hole in the road. "Oh my," I said. I breathed steadily, trying to ready myself for the long trip home.
Tuesday, September 05, 2023
The Best and the Worst, All in the Same Week
Later, I realized that because of a complete stranger, I found hope. Because of a woman who was unknown to me, my baby would be able to live.
I give my dear Nunzi all the credit. Leave it to her to come up with something that resembled a solution.
When she first suggested the plan to me one afternoon in September, over provolone and bread and espresso (I could tolerate coffee once again) I wasn't altogether sure.
Eventually though, I realized it was the best answer for a difficult situation. I would still have to face up to the brutal fact that I was going to have to yield up my flesh and blood to someone else. I was going to lose the baby no matter what.
But here at least was a way that I knew the baby could live. I was relieved that there was no fear of the ruota. No terror at the thought that the baby would land in the ospizia, where he would feed on a wet nurse who carried disease -- disease that would kill my precious baby in only a matter of months.
Back to Nunzi. After my "resurrection" in the ocean that morning, I started visiting my friend regularly again. She fed me homemade pizza and lagane e cici (lagane pasta with chickpeas.) Very occasionally -- and Mama always was invited too -- we ate delicous frittole e curcuci -- fried donuts, served with a long-simmering mixture of every part of the pig that wasn't already used, including the neck, cheeks, kidneys, snout, tongue, ears, belly and everything else.
By May, I was starting to eat for two, and Nunzi -- and Giovanni -- came through for me. He knew that I was seeing Nunzi, so he started to have one of his employees buy and deliver food to her so she could cook for me. I began eating a ton of fresh fish, and lots of salami, including the spicy sopresata and njuda.
I was about half-way through my pregnancy, when I finally agreed to see Giovanni once in a while. We would talk at the kitchen table, or sometimes I agreed to meet him at the beach.
A few times in the summer, he had Giuseppi pack a picnic lunch and we took it to our rocks. On the very last day of July, a really lovely summer day, not too hot and absolutely no clouds, he arrived with the picnic basket. He asked me to bring my journal and I hesitated. I hate to say it but I hadn't been writing at all. I certainly didn't want to admit that to him but I think he knew. He really pushed me that day so grudgingly, I brought the journal along.
After lunch, I lay back against the rocks and closed my eyes, as I was getting used to taking naps in the afternoon.
I don't think I'd been sleeping very long when I opened my eyes again.
He was watching me. He smiled. I looked away. "Fi, I have a surprise for you."
I didn't want gifts from him. "Please, Giovanni, you know I don't want your gifts."
"Oh but this is different."
"Oh I'm sure it isn't."
"Please close your eyes."
I did.
"OK now open."
When I did I think my eyes actually swelled, in spite of me! I was beyond delighted. Because in his hands was a slender box with a set of four gorgeous glass pens of different colors! The glass handles were twirled. Giovanni had told me about these pens once, saying that they were fashioned on the island of Murano, near Venice. Each one had a metal tip.
In his other hand was a bottle of lovely dark blue ink.
And as if that were not enough, he had two brand new leather journals in his lap!
Giovanni knew me well. Dangling those pens -- and the ink and the journals -- in front of me was like offering a selection of fine sausages to a hungry dog!
I didn't say a word but I reached one hand out, and he picked up the green pen, glittering in the sunlight, and laid it carefully into my hand. And then he handed me the ink. He set the journals aside.
"I think it's time that we write for a while. What do you say Fi?" What could I say? Actually, I didn't say a thing. But I opened my journal to a clean page, right after that chunk of pages that I had torn out in my rage back in March.
I wrote:
"I am more than half-way finished with my pregnancy. I am not sick to my stomach anymore, but now I am so worried about what will happen to the baby. I would rather die than have to slip him into the ruota! I'm sitting here in the sand with Giovanni. He seems to have gained some weight but he still doesn't look well. I keep telling myself that somehow there will be a miracle and I will be able to keep my baby.
"I gaze out at the sea! The most beautiful turquoise water. The pen in my hand is exquisite. It comes from Murano and it is made of glass. I don't want any more gifts from Giovanni but how can I say no to these pens and this ink?
"I should say thank you to him. But I'm still so angry. I'm not even sure who I'm angry at exactly. Sure, Giovanni lied to me and so he is at fault for our getting married. But I'm also angry at the stupid priest for telling Giovanni he could get an annullment in Reggio-Calabria.
"And when I am fully honest, I'm angry at myself too for not being more careful. Or suspicious. I was speaking to Nunzi a couple of weeks ago, saying that part of me had a vague feeling G wasn't telling me the full story. But I didn't want to push anymore. I didn't want to wait anymore.
"Oh, what's the point of rehashing all of this? THERE IS NO POINT AT ALL!!"
At that moment, I decided to play: I dipped the pen in the ink and dropped spots of ink on a fresh page. Then I wrote: "Here are the points!!" I laughed out loud at my silliness and Giovanni looked up. He was busy writing some long long entry.
"What's so funny Fi?"
"Oh nothing."
He was staring at me, and I didn't want him to.
"Look, Giovanni, thank you so much for this pen. Why don't you keep the others for your..."
"NO, Fi, absolutely not. I got these for you for..."
He stopped. He sniffled once and then continued.
"I got these as a wedding present and I've been waiting for them to come..."
"Oh no, then I don't want them. Nope. Take them back. Give them to.." I set the pen back into the box. My fingers were covered in ink. "Quite honestly, I don't care who you give them to!"
We sat there uncomfortably. Then he spoke in a kind of deadly tone. "You know Fi you really can be cruel sometimes. I was hoping we were coming to some kind of a...a truce. But you just won't let go of your anger, will you?"
I shot back. "Should I?" I stood up and set one hand on my belly which seemed to be swelling bigger every day. "I kind of have a constant reminder don't I?"
Tears erupted. That happened so easily when I was pregnant. I would cry when I saw a new puppy. Or one day, when I noticed an old crippled woman who was blind and begging in the street.
Suddenly there was a fleeting sensation, a kind of quivering inside my belly. It had happened a couple of other times this past week. Each time, it was like a tiny river wiggling inside my belly. It happened so fast I wasn't sure what it was. When I asked Mama, she smiled and said, "that is your baby swimming inside you, doing a somersault, una capriola, to show you that he is alive!"
But now it was a swoop, and a dive, and it made me gasp out loud in surprise. I set my hand under my belly. I smiled. And laughed. I looked at Giovanni. I had to tell him.
"The baby is moving," I said. He got up onto his knees. I know he wanted to touch my belly, to feel the movement for himself, but I just couldn't allow him to do that.
Standing there, however, I realized again that it made no sense to hold onto my resentment and anger. I sank back onto the sand. Would it be so terrible to take this gift? These were the most beautiful pens I could imagine. And I owed him so much, in terms of my writing. I wouldn't have nearly the confidence I have now as a writer if it weren't for his constant encouragement.
"Thank you for buying these stunning pens for me Giovanni. And thank you too for the ink and the new journals. I am sorry for being so difficult. I will accept these gifts in the spirit in which they were given."
I took the box of pens in my hands and I held up the yellow one. It caught the sunlight and sent a reflection right into my eyes!" I smiled. I would have these pens for the rest of my life.
And then, just when I thought I was feeling upright and happy, another dark thought shot across my mind. "Here, now, in this pen, is evidence that you were very very briefly the wife of a wealthy man. These glass pens would be so easily broken, just like your marriage was broken, smashed..."
I shook my head back and forth, trying to dislodge the ugly thought.
"It's time we got back," I said.
"Must we already?" he asked.
"Yes, I ought to help Nunzi with dinner."
That of course was a completely silly excuse. I was beginning to be able to lie so easily.
Later that night, when I showed Nunzi the pens, I explained how I was torn about accepting them. And I told her why, because they were a belated wedding present. I told her I was still so angry.
"Fi, you ought to be looking forward not backward. There is nothing to be gained gazing into the past."
She was right of course. The problem was I had no idea what I was gazing at looking forward. I was going to say that but I had said it over and over again. No need to say it once more.
I let Nunzi have the last word. "You should also try to fill yourself with gratitude," she said. "Thank the Good Lord, and Mother Mary, that you are so healthy."
I didn't say it, but Nunzi's advice didn't really impress me. I couldn't say exactly what I had to be grateful for.
*****
And then came September. The best and the worst news I have ever had came in the same week, only a few days separating them.
The bad news came on a Tuesday. I remember I was staying at Nunzi's as she and her husband were visiting a cousin of his down south near Amantea, where her husband's family originated.
I was in charge of the three boys (the new baby, Lucio, born at the end of July, accompanied Nunzi, of course, as she was nursing.) She and her husband were only going to be away for three days and that's good because I was exhausted. Even though Nunzi had prepared some meals ahead of time, I had to run after the next to youngest.
He was no longer napping, so there was no resting in the afternoon. And as soon as the first light broke outside the window in the morning, Vicenzo would pop up from his bed, a little bundle of energy, and the next thing I knew he was standing in front of me, shaking me awake. "Fi fi, please get up. Oh Fi Fi, che fame. Oh so so hungry I am. Please feed me my breakfast, oh che fame io, so hungry!"
He had a wild head of black curls, and Nunzi's impish smile. I adored Vicenzo, but pulling myself out of bed at this early hour was tough. I did though and prepared him some cooked farina, with a squirt of honey. The older boys were difficult to wake up. The older boy, I took him a cup of coffee. And the middle son, Lorenzo, who was nine, I tickled him awake.
Anyway, as I said, it was a Tuesday. In the middle of the morning, I told Vicenzo that we would walk over to my house to see Mama (who always had a treat for him), but first I had to do some laundry. I scrubbed away, relying on the washboard, and rinsed and hung up a few things.
We were getting ready to take our walk when suddenly there was a knock on the door. When I answered, it was Mama!
"Oh Vicenzo and I were just coming to visit you," I said.
Mama had been crying.
"What's wrong? Are you ill Mama?" She didn't look ill. "Please, Mama, please tell me!"
"Sit down Filomena." I did. Vicenzo climbed onto my lap and set his curls on my chest. Mama wasted no time.
"Tullio and Edoardo came a few minutes ago. They carried this letter."
I stared at her, not comprehending. I took the enveloped and slipped out the letter. It was in Giovanni's handwriting, but it wasn't quite right; he might have written it when he was tired. I hadn't seen him for a few weeks, and the last time I saw him, he looked pale again.
The letter was dated September 5, 1870, just the day before.
"Dear Filomena, You know that I haven't been well for some time. I have been feeling more ill lately, and a few days ago, I began vomiting blood. Earlier today the doctor came and he said that things do not look good for me. I would so much like to see you again, as soon as possible my dear wife. Your ever adoring husband, Giovanni."
Beieve it or not, the first thing I reacted to was those stupid words "wife" and "husband." How dare he call me his wife, and himself my husband! I sat there fixated on those words, because I so hated to be reminded of that story of pain that I had endured. The one that was over but still felt like it was neverending.
But that silliness only lasted a few moments. My stupidity went out the window, and the sky came crashing in. Giovanni was dying. Giovanni wanted to see me again before he...died!
I looked up at Mama, who was sobbing into her hanky. "I am so so sorry Filomena. Mi dispiace così tanto!!!"
I was frozen. I had known Giovanni was ill, but I hadn't ever considered the idea that he might be near death. At my young age of 18, I didn't fully realize how tenuous life is for each and every one of us. No one is guaranteed another day, no matter how old he or she is.
Vicenzo, seeing my mother crying, pushed himself off my lap and went quietly over to Mama, who he called Nonna Lucia, and he patted her tenderly on the shoulder.
"Non piangere," he said over and over. "Don't cry. My mama will be home tomorrow, you'll see! Non piangere Nonna Lucia. La mia mamma tornerà a casa domani, vedrai!"
Meanwhile, I was a statue. All that Giovanni had said hadn't sunk in yet. I only knew one thing. I had to get to San Lucido as quickly as possible.
"But I need to stay with the children," I said to Mama.
"No, you need to go to San Lucido, I will stay with the children."
"And how should I get there?"
"You are to go in an hour from now to the village square, where a carriage will be waiting."
And so, I removed Nunzi's apron and with my dress still wet from doing laundry, I hurried from Nunzi's and headed straight for the square, for the fountain, where I had first waited for Giovanni so many lifetimes ago!
****** I know it's going to sound like I am cold-hearted but when I first arrived at Giovanni's bedside, I didn't want him to hold my hand. And I didn't move to embrace him at all. I just sat there trying to take in what was happening.
For one thing, G's face was not the face I knew. It was dripping wet with sweat. And his color was ghastly. The skin of his face was the color somewhere between a lemon and a lime, or the two fruits, combined.
But he was able to speak.
"You were good to come Fi...so quickly," he said. He ran his tongue back and forth over his lips.
"I am so terribly sorry, Giovanni." I didn't want to be sitting here staring at him. He looked to be on the other side -- the deathly side -- of sickly. It scared me on a very deep level. And like everything else about my relationship with him, this too was never supposed to happen!
"I know you are. I am too. Because I wanted to be..." he stopped and I had no idea what he wanted to say, so I just sat there. "I want to be there when you have the baby."
I blinked. And held my breath. I hadn't really been thinking quite that far ahead. I sat there, frozen again. Those moments with him were so much more painful than I realized when I was going through them. I think Nunzi was right when she said that I was in complete denial that morning.
"I know that you care for me very deeply," I said.
He nodded. "I do Filomena." He closed his eyes and for some reason I went back in time to when we first met on the beach. His head of blonde curls. His hair today had been trimmed very close to his head.
I maintained a steady gaze, finally meeting his eyes. I wanted to say that I too cared for him deeply. I was struggling with exactly what to say, though, and then without any warning, he was asleep! Or had he died?
Tullio and Edoardo were just outside his -- formerly our -- bedroom, and I rushed out to get them. Tullio set one hand under Giovanni's nose, and felt him breathing.
"This happens," Tullio said. "He will be talking and then he suddenly drops off."
So we three sat there waiting for him to wake up again. I had time to let my eyes circulate around the room. The salmon colored walls. The white satin wallpaper. All the exquisite handmade furniture. It stirred up bad, and sad, feelings.
I wasn't sure how long I was willing to sit there.
Giovanni called out. "Please don't hate me Fi!" he screamed, and I stood up and leaned over him. But his eyes were closed, and soon his mouth hung open and his nose must have been blocked because he began snoring.
I sat there for several hours. I'm not sure how long exactly. At some point, Tullio forced me to go downstairs to the dining room where Giuseppi had prepared a small feast for me and Tullio. Edoardo had already eaten, and now he was going to sit beside Giovanni while the two of us ate.
"So his father isn't coming?" I said, in between bites of a delicate pasta with butter and capers, lemon and parsley.
"Ha, are you kidding? Giovanni didn't have too much to say after the doctor talked to him but he did say that he forbid me to inform his father that he was ill...and...dying!"
We sat in silence, eating. It was pitch black outside.
Finally Tullio spoke. "Fi, Giovanni has left you a sizable inheritance in his will. The details are still being finalized but..." I turned to stare at him. "But we are not married, Tullio, there is no..." "Fi, you've got to stop your foolishness," Tullio said, interrupting, and for the first time since I have known him, he sounded impatient with me. "You know very well that if Giovanni had any choice in the matter, the two of you would still be husband and wife. And of course, he loves that baby you are carrying..." Tullio shook his head slowly and sadly, side to side. His lips were pressed together. And then he lifted his cloth napkin to his eyes and dabbed at them.
His emotion kindled something in me. It was at that moment, I started to know in my body that I was losing Giovanni. I cannot explain it exactly, but looking back, it must have been the combination of eating and then feeling the depth of Tullio's sadness.
I knew something else. I knew that I had to get back upstairs because there was something I had to tell Giovanni. So I told Tullio, and the two of us went back upstairs. Tullio let me go in alone, however.
Edoardo was happy to give up the chair there beside Giovanni's bed. He was still asleep, but I made the decision: I would remain by his side until he woke up again. I was a bit panicked thinking he might not. I began to pray to Mary.
He woke up after about an hour. He looked very serene (and later I learned that was because the doctor had boosted his dosage of morphine, to make G more comfortable.)
Now I took hold of his bony hand, and squeezed it gently between my own hands. "I love you Giovanni," I said, whispering close to his ear.
When I sat up again, he was smiling a weaker version of that charming smile of his, the one I'll always hold in my heart.
"Mille grazie," he said, and he kept repeating those two words over and over again.
"Giovanni, I heard that you very generous to me in your will," I said. "You didn't have to do that."
"Oh. Yes. Of course I did," he said. And now his brow furrowed. He looked upset. "Oh would you please get Tullio?"
So I did, and Tullio took the chair on the left, and a nurse brought a chair for me on the right.
Giovanni had his eyes closed, but he opened them. "Tullio, I must ask you... to do something very important for me... quickly." His voice was listless. "Anything, G." "My father has his ways...and...his lawyers. Bastards, all of them. There must be no way that he can... interfere with my will..." He dropped off again, and I looked at Tullio. Fear rose up in me. But he opened his eyes again. "You and I must work together Tullio, quickly..." We sat, waiting. When he spoke next, his words came out in a rush: "You must prepare a letter... for me to sign. We must withdraw all the cash from my bank account in Cosenza. All of it for Filomena...a new account for her." He was breathless by the end.
I started to sweat. The air all around me felt warm and sticky, like it was hard to breathe it in. I felt lightheaded too. And on top of it all, the baby was kicking. I picked up the hem of my dress and wiped my face. And it was almost as if I wiped off the last bit of pretense. I was fully exposed now.
Tears bubbled up. I leaned over G from the right side, and rested my face there, and just let the tears soak into his chest. I remember all the nights I had rested here, mended to him, on this side of the bed, after the wedding.
I heard G say: "Tullio please...do this right away."
Tullio scurried off. And I cried and sat with G well into the night. I didn't want to leave him but Edoardo said I had to sleep, if not for me, then for the baby. He promised me on his life that if G seemed to worsen, he would wake me right away.
I went into another bedroom and lay down and pulled up a cotton blanket and was instantly asleep. I slept well into the morning. When I woke, the sun was up; I wasn't sure in the very first instant where I was, and then I knew and I hurried into G's room.
He was asleep and had one hand covering the other on his chest. I sat down. I felt a sore throat coming on. Soon a young woman I didn't know brought me coffee and a pastry and some water on a tray.
Tullio came in a little later with the letter G had to sign. And when G woke up next, Tullio held the pen in his hand and together, they signed his name in a childish scrawl.
All I could think about was how many times I had seen G writing like a demon, the words pouring out of his pen and filling up a pile of paper.
Giovanni passed away later that day. I stayed with him until late at night. I would have stayed until the next morning but Tullio and Edoardo insisted I leave him. They helped me up, and helped me walk, because I had started crying so hard that I couldn't talk and I felt like all of me was melting into the floor.
********* The funeral was a very small affair. There was no family at all, unless of course you count me as Giovanni's family. When I said this to Tullio, he got annoyed with me again.
"Of course you are his family Filomena. For heaven's sake, you are making his flesh and blood come alive inside you!"
Besides me and Tullio and Edoardo, all of the staff at the San Lucido house was there (there being the church at San Lucido, which overlooks the ocean!). Mama and Nunzi came too.
I didn't know the priest who said the funeral Mass. I was just so glad it wasn't Father Crudele.
Both Tullio and Edoardo spoke at the end of the service, and then I said a few words. I didn't want to, at least not at first, because I said it would be too difficult for me not to cry. But then Edoardo said to me, "Do you think it's easy for us Filomena? Tullio and I have been friends with G for decades, since we met on the playground in the fourth grade!"
The night before the funeral, I went for a walk at dusk on the beach in Paola. The waves were crushing high and white, far up on the shore. My feet sank deeply into the sand as I walked. Suddenly I found myself talking to Giovanni.
"I can still remember meeting you right here on the beach. You were carrying a large leather notebook and immediately I wanted to know whether you were a writer or an artist. I started to fall in love with you at that very moment G. You were so tall, and with those blonde curls. I looked back after we passed each other and I could see that you were staring at me. So maybe you fell in love with me that day too."
"There are all kinds of love stories, Giovanni, but the kind we had was very special, full of drama and writing and your kindness to me. And there were so many months when I thought for sure I would never see you again. And now...
Suddenly it hit: the realization that this time, I really would never see him again. I started to sob, and I hurried forward on the beach.
All I could think was, "how can I possibly get up there to say anything if I just break down crying?"
Then I realized that no one would expect anything different of me. In fact, they might think it odd if I didn't start crying.
With that in mind, I went back home and wrote down what I was going to say in my journal. I took that with me to the funeral. When it was my turn to speak, I I started by holding up the journal. I told those gathered that Giovanni had bought me the journal, and four beautiful glass pens from Venice. "He taught me what it means to be a writer. And he gave me the confidence to express my thoughts."
Then I read what I had written in my journal. When I got to the part about what I would remember, I ended by saying. "I will always remember him as the first man that I fell in love with. And the man who has given me my first baby." I started crying then, very softly. I squeezed my eyes shut.
"I will never forget you, my darling Giovanni. As long as I am alive, you will be alive within me!"
After we went to the cemetery, all of us went to the house, where Giuseppi laid out a beautiful meal. I didn't feel at all like eating, at least not when I first got there. But Mama convinced me to sip some Prosecco, and before I knew it, I was feeling more relaxed. And then I was famished. I filled my plate with baked cod covered with bread crumbs, and pasta with pesto and fresh tomatoes, along with a couple of different salads. And then I looked around: where is he? Where is Giovanni? For a moment I had actually forgotten! But when I remembered, I felt the tears coming down. Mama saw me and guided me to a table. "Mangia, Filomena. Stai mangiando per due! You are eating for two!"
For dessert, Giuseppi had made olive oil cake with whipped cream and a delicious chocolate tiramisu because, he told me, "those were Signore Giovanni's favorite sweets, that is, besides you, Filomena!" He took me in his arms and hugged me tightly.
Soon after I ate dessert, all of my energy began to drain out of me, as if I were a sink and someone had pulled the plug. I hugged Tullio and Edoardo and Giuseppi again, and a few others I had known at the villa, and then I let Mama lead me out of the house into a carriage that was waiting there for us. I slept soundly until about 5 a.m. When I woke, it was still dark. The baby was moving around like crazy. Maybe he missed Giovanni too.
And then I remembered something else that troubled me: I still had no idea how I was going to keep my son (because I had decided it was a boy) out of the ospizia. The thought weighed heavily on my heart.
Little did I know, but the wheels of fate had started to turn, and very soon, I would have the answer I sought!
******* Mama has a saying, which pertains specifically to a baby being born. "Always women are waiting at the end, dying to know when their babies will come. Well they should realize one thing: the ripe pear when it's ready, falls from the tree."
In other words, everything in its time.
And that wisdom of my mother's applied to my baby's fate as well.
The day after Giovanni's funeral, I felt as though I was, as I told Mama, "good for nothing." I was too tired to move. And too sad to think straight.
So she told me she would sit with me and keep my company while she crocheted some lacy thing she was making.
"Take a nap, Fi," she said in the morning. I tried, but even though I felt tired, I was too distraught to fall asleep. I got up, and Mama made me a cup of chamomile tea, which is supposed to be relaxing.
As we were sitting together, drinking the tea, Nunzi arrived with Vincenzo riding on her hip.
Mama offered her tea but N asked for coffee, and so Mama made a pot of espresso and poured three cups. She pulled out some provolone and bread.
And then, as Nunzi stirred a bit of milk into her cup, she said something which almost made me fall off my chair.
"Fi, I didn't want to say anything until the funeral was over, but now I can tell you. I think I have found someone who..." and here she stared into my eyes "...might, just might take your baby."
"You have?"
"Yes, I think so. When we were down in Amantea, my husband's cousin Maria Sonobuona introduced me to this farmer's wife, a lovely lady named Adelina. She has four grown sons, and one age 11 and one six or seven and then suddenly, she became pregnant earlier this year. She is due to deliver her baby just about the time you do, in late October, or early November."
Mama apparently knew all about this. She was sitting in her chair, and when I glanced at her, I saw her staring at me. She looked...well, she looked worried.
"I'm not sure I understand Nunzi. Why does she want my baby, I mean, doesn't she have her hands full with all of her own kids?"
"Well, yes and no. She and her husband have an olive orchard, and a few goats and pigs and horses and chickens, and they make cheese and olive oil and they sell pork. But as my husband and I know so well, it is very hard to support a family on an olive orchard or a farm. Giovanna and I were talking, I liked her so much, Fi, you would too, she is sweet and smart and thoughtful and rather artistic. Like your Mama, she makes cotton lace -- the designs are all her own, and they are intricate and beautiful."
It still wasn't clear how this woman was going to help me out with my baby.
"I don't understand Nunzi. Please explain to me what you are thinking." I could feel a knot growing in my throat. I didn't want to have to think about this. I didn't want to think about another woman actually taking my baby.
Nunzi inhaled. "OK, well so I got to talking with Giovanna, as I said, and I mentioned that my best friend -- la mia migliore ragazza -- is facing a really difficult situation. I explained what had happened to you and then I said to her, "My friend's baby may unfortunately have to go to the ospizia."
I waited. Frankly, I was getting a bit impatient with Nunzi. And angry, too.
"Yes, and so?"
"Well, so Giovanna was very sympathetic. We both agreed the answer would be for someone who was having a baby at the same time to take...yours too."
"But why would she do that Nunzi?"
Nunzi shrugged and laughed. "Because, Fi, you silly girl. Because she would be...paid." She stared at me closely, to see my reaction I guess. "And what is ironic is that this conversation with her came just about the same day that you found out...that...G was leaving you a boatload of lira."
Finally I understood. Yes, how silly of me. Of course. It made sense that this woman would do this heroic thing for money. But then I thought about it some more...
"This woman, Nunzi, I'm sorry, but will she love my son, Nunzi? Just because I pay her?"
"I think if you find the right woman, and this woman Giovanna would be ideal, Fi, because she is a very special human being, very spiritual. And several of her children are grown. The grown ones eat a ton of food, however, as they are all working hard on the farm."
"I see." I shook my head. Actually, I really didn't quite see it. I felt like I should like this idea, because this was indeed a way to sidestep the ospizia. But this woman couldn't possibly love my baby the way I would. And I was feeling really angry all of sudden, angry that I should have to deal with this.
Mama spoke up at that moment, and it was almost as though she had read my mind. "Filomena, when Nunzi presented me with this idea a few days ago, I must say that I was not sure at all. Because, like you," she said, speaking slowly and carefully, "I kept thinking how can you pay someone to love your child? It's impossible. But then after living with the idea for the last three or four days, I started to warm up to it a little bit. So maybe you must give it some time."
Nunzi spoke. "I'm telling you Fi when you meet Giovanna," she caught herself. "Please excuse me, Fi, if you meet her, I promise you will find yourself falling in love with her, as I did! There is a certain quality about her. She is loved all over Amantea because she is forever coming to the aid of others, mothers, children, old folks, newlyweds, anyone in need."
I nodded. "OK, well." I inhaled deeply. "I think...I think I must meet her." I too spoke slowly. I rested my hands on my belly which was starting to stick out like a rounded shelf. Here it was almost the middle of September and I was due to deliver sometime in early November. The midwife, who I had seen a few weeks before said she wouldn't be surprised if the child came in late October.
At that moment, my baby spoke the only way he can: by squirming! He swims excitedly across my belly, my very pregnant belly -- la mia pancia molto incinta!! And he pokes his limbs out, too.
"Oh, there he goes," I said, and held Mama's hand on the side where I felt what I thought could be his elbow. Or the heel of his foot.
"Oh, il tallone!" Mama said, and a big smile widened across her face.
"Let me feel," Nunzi squealed. But the baby had shifted. "Oh well, I guess next time then."
"Yes, of course, next time." I turned to face Nunzi. "I just want to say thank you for doing all this for me." I paused. "I'm sorry if I am not more...grateful. It's just that..." here now tears were starting. "I don't want to think about anybody else with my...my baby."
Nunzi stood up and bent over and wrapped her arms around me. "Oh Fi, of course you don't, Fi. I understand. This is so awfully hard for you." Then she crouched down in front of me. "But remember Fi, this is how we are going to save the baby! You have to focus on that, sweetie! You must!" She reached her hands out to me and I took them.
I shook my head showing her I understood. But still, my tears wouldn't stop. They were tears for my baby, but also for the husband I had lost.
Now I felt thoroughly exhausted. Mama told me I should lay down again, and I did and this time, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was feeling better.
I realized that my dear Nunzi had figured out a way to save my little boy!
I give my dear Nunzi all the credit. Leave it to her to come up with something that resembled a solution.
When she first suggested the plan to me one afternoon in September, over provolone and bread and espresso (I could tolerate coffee once again) I wasn't altogether sure.
But here at least was a way that I knew the baby could live. I was relieved that there was no fear of the ruota. No terror at the thought that the baby would land in the ospizia, where he would feed on a wet nurse who carried disease -- disease that would kill my precious baby in only a matter of months.
Back to Nunzi. After my "resurrection" in the ocean that morning, I started visiting my friend regularly again. She fed me homemade pizza and lagane e cici (lagane pasta with chickpeas.) Very occasionally -- and Mama always was invited too -- we ate delicous frittole e curcuci -- fried donuts, served with a long-simmering mixture of every part of the pig that wasn't already used, including the neck, cheeks, kidneys, snout, tongue, ears, belly and everything else.
By May, I was starting to eat for two, and Nunzi -- and Giovanni -- came through for me. He knew that I was seeing Nunzi, so he started to have one of his employees buy and deliver food to her so she could cook for me. I began eating a ton of fresh fish, and lots of salami, including the spicy sopresata and njuda.
I was about half-way through my pregnancy, when I finally agreed to see Giovanni once in a while. We would talk at the kitchen table, or sometimes I agreed to meet him at the beach.
A few times in the summer, he had Giuseppi pack a picnic lunch and we took it to our rocks. On the very last day of July, a really lovely summer day, not too hot and absolutely no clouds, he arrived with the picnic basket. He asked me to bring my journal and I hesitated. I hate to say it but I hadn't been writing at all. I certainly didn't want to admit that to him but I think he knew. He really pushed me that day so grudgingly, I brought the journal along.
After lunch, I lay back against the rocks and closed my eyes, as I was getting used to taking naps in the afternoon.
I don't think I'd been sleeping very long when I opened my eyes again.
He was watching me. He smiled. I looked away. "Fi, I have a surprise for you."
I didn't want gifts from him. "Please, Giovanni, you know I don't want your gifts."
"Oh I'm sure it isn't."
"Please close your eyes."
I did.
"OK now open."
When I did I think my eyes actually swelled, in spite of me! I was beyond delighted. Because in his hands was a slender box with a set of four gorgeous glass pens of different colors! The glass handles were twirled. Giovanni had told me about these pens once, saying that they were fashioned on the island of Murano, near Venice. Each one had a metal tip.
In his other hand was a bottle of lovely dark blue ink.
And as if that were not enough, he had two brand new leather journals in his lap!
Giovanni knew me well. Dangling those pens -- and the ink and the journals -- in front of me was like offering a selection of fine sausages to a hungry dog!
I didn't say a word but I reached one hand out, and he picked up the green pen, glittering in the sunlight, and laid it carefully into my hand. And then he handed me the ink. He set the journals aside.
"I think it's time that we write for a while. What do you say Fi?" What could I say? Actually, I didn't say a thing. But I opened my journal to a clean page, right after that chunk of pages that I had torn out in my rage back in March.
I wrote:
"I am more than half-way finished with my pregnancy. I am not sick to my stomach anymore, but now I am so worried about what will happen to the baby. I would rather die than have to slip him into the ruota! I'm sitting here in the sand with Giovanni. He seems to have gained some weight but he still doesn't look well. I keep telling myself that somehow there will be a miracle and I will be able to keep my baby.
"I gaze out at the sea! The most beautiful turquoise water. The pen in my hand is exquisite. It comes from Murano and it is made of glass. I don't want any more gifts from Giovanni but how can I say no to these pens and this ink?
"I should say thank you to him. But I'm still so angry. I'm not even sure who I'm angry at exactly. Sure, Giovanni lied to me and so he is at fault for our getting married. But I'm also angry at the stupid priest for telling Giovanni he could get an annullment in Reggio-Calabria.
"And when I am fully honest, I'm angry at myself too for not being more careful. Or suspicious. I was speaking to Nunzi a couple of weeks ago, saying that part of me had a vague feeling G wasn't telling me the full story. But I didn't want to push anymore. I didn't want to wait anymore.
"Oh, what's the point of rehashing all of this? THERE IS NO POINT AT ALL!!"
"What's so funny Fi?"
"Oh nothing."
He was staring at me, and I didn't want him to.
"Look, Giovanni, thank you so much for this pen. Why don't you keep the others for your..."
"NO, Fi, absolutely not. I got these for you for..."
He stopped. He sniffled once and then continued.
"I got these as a wedding present and I've been waiting for them to come..."
"Oh no, then I don't want them. Nope. Take them back. Give them to.." I set the pen back into the box. My fingers were covered in ink. "Quite honestly, I don't care who you give them to!"
We sat there uncomfortably. Then he spoke in a kind of deadly tone. "You know Fi you really can be cruel sometimes. I was hoping we were coming to some kind of a...a truce. But you just won't let go of your anger, will you?"
I shot back. "Should I?" I stood up and set one hand on my belly which seemed to be swelling bigger every day. "I kind of have a constant reminder don't I?"
Tears erupted. That happened so easily when I was pregnant. I would cry when I saw a new puppy. Or one day, when I noticed an old crippled woman who was blind and begging in the street.
Suddenly there was a fleeting sensation, a kind of quivering inside my belly. It had happened a couple of other times this past week. Each time, it was like a tiny river wiggling inside my belly. It happened so fast I wasn't sure what it was. When I asked Mama, she smiled and said, "that is your baby swimming inside you, doing a somersault, una capriola, to show you that he is alive!"
But now it was a swoop, and a dive, and it made me gasp out loud in surprise. I set my hand under my belly. I smiled. And laughed. I looked at Giovanni. I had to tell him.
"The baby is moving," I said. He got up onto his knees. I know he wanted to touch my belly, to feel the movement for himself, but I just couldn't allow him to do that.
Standing there, however, I realized again that it made no sense to hold onto my resentment and anger. I sank back onto the sand. Would it be so terrible to take this gift? These were the most beautiful pens I could imagine. And I owed him so much, in terms of my writing. I wouldn't have nearly the confidence I have now as a writer if it weren't for his constant encouragement.
"Thank you for buying these stunning pens for me Giovanni. And thank you too for the ink and the new journals. I am sorry for being so difficult. I will accept these gifts in the spirit in which they were given."
And then, just when I thought I was feeling upright and happy, another dark thought shot across my mind. "Here, now, in this pen, is evidence that you were very very briefly the wife of a wealthy man. These glass pens would be so easily broken, just like your marriage was broken, smashed..."
I shook my head back and forth, trying to dislodge the ugly thought.
"It's time we got back," I said.
"Must we already?" he asked.
"Yes, I ought to help Nunzi with dinner."
That of course was a completely silly excuse. I was beginning to be able to lie so easily.
Later that night, when I showed Nunzi the pens, I explained how I was torn about accepting them. And I told her why, because they were a belated wedding present. I told her I was still so angry.
"Fi, you ought to be looking forward not backward. There is nothing to be gained gazing into the past."
She was right of course. The problem was I had no idea what I was gazing at looking forward. I was going to say that but I had said it over and over again. No need to say it once more.
I let Nunzi have the last word. "You should also try to fill yourself with gratitude," she said. "Thank the Good Lord, and Mother Mary, that you are so healthy."
I didn't say it, but Nunzi's advice didn't really impress me. I couldn't say exactly what I had to be grateful for.
*****
And then came September. The best and the worst news I have ever had came in the same week, only a few days separating them.
The bad news came on a Tuesday. I remember I was staying at Nunzi's as she and her husband were visiting a cousin of his down south near Amantea, where her husband's family originated.
I was in charge of the three boys (the new baby, Lucio, born at the end of July, accompanied Nunzi, of course, as she was nursing.) She and her husband were only going to be away for three days and that's good because I was exhausted. Even though Nunzi had prepared some meals ahead of time, I had to run after the next to youngest.
He was no longer napping, so there was no resting in the afternoon. And as soon as the first light broke outside the window in the morning, Vicenzo would pop up from his bed, a little bundle of energy, and the next thing I knew he was standing in front of me, shaking me awake. "Fi fi, please get up. Oh Fi Fi, che fame. Oh so so hungry I am. Please feed me my breakfast, oh che fame io, so hungry!"
He had a wild head of black curls, and Nunzi's impish smile. I adored Vicenzo, but pulling myself out of bed at this early hour was tough. I did though and prepared him some cooked farina, with a squirt of honey. The older boys were difficult to wake up. The older boy, I took him a cup of coffee. And the middle son, Lorenzo, who was nine, I tickled him awake.
Anyway, as I said, it was a Tuesday. In the middle of the morning, I told Vicenzo that we would walk over to my house to see Mama (who always had a treat for him), but first I had to do some laundry. I scrubbed away, relying on the washboard, and rinsed and hung up a few things.
We were getting ready to take our walk when suddenly there was a knock on the door. When I answered, it was Mama!
"Oh Vicenzo and I were just coming to visit you," I said.
Mama had been crying.
"What's wrong? Are you ill Mama?" She didn't look ill. "Please, Mama, please tell me!"
"Sit down Filomena." I did. Vicenzo climbed onto my lap and set his curls on my chest. Mama wasted no time.
"Tullio and Edoardo came a few minutes ago. They carried this letter."
I stared at her, not comprehending. I took the enveloped and slipped out the letter. It was in Giovanni's handwriting, but it wasn't quite right; he might have written it when he was tired. I hadn't seen him for a few weeks, and the last time I saw him, he looked pale again.
The letter was dated September 5, 1870, just the day before.
"Dear Filomena, You know that I haven't been well for some time. I have been feeling more ill lately, and a few days ago, I began vomiting blood. Earlier today the doctor came and he said that things do not look good for me. I would so much like to see you again, as soon as possible my dear wife. Your ever adoring husband, Giovanni."
Beieve it or not, the first thing I reacted to was those stupid words "wife" and "husband." How dare he call me his wife, and himself my husband! I sat there fixated on those words, because I so hated to be reminded of that story of pain that I had endured. The one that was over but still felt like it was neverending.
But that silliness only lasted a few moments. My stupidity went out the window, and the sky came crashing in. Giovanni was dying. Giovanni wanted to see me again before he...died!
I looked up at Mama, who was sobbing into her hanky. "I am so so sorry Filomena. Mi dispiace così tanto!!!"
I was frozen. I had known Giovanni was ill, but I hadn't ever considered the idea that he might be near death. At my young age of 18, I didn't fully realize how tenuous life is for each and every one of us. No one is guaranteed another day, no matter how old he or she is.
Vicenzo, seeing my mother crying, pushed himself off my lap and went quietly over to Mama, who he called Nonna Lucia, and he patted her tenderly on the shoulder.
"Non piangere," he said over and over. "Don't cry. My mama will be home tomorrow, you'll see! Non piangere Nonna Lucia. La mia mamma tornerà a casa domani, vedrai!"
Meanwhile, I was a statue. All that Giovanni had said hadn't sunk in yet. I only knew one thing. I had to get to San Lucido as quickly as possible.
"But I need to stay with the children," I said to Mama.
"No, you need to go to San Lucido, I will stay with the children."
"And how should I get there?"
"You are to go in an hour from now to the village square, where a carriage will be waiting."
And so, I removed Nunzi's apron and with my dress still wet from doing laundry, I hurried from Nunzi's and headed straight for the square, for the fountain, where I had first waited for Giovanni so many lifetimes ago!
****** I know it's going to sound like I am cold-hearted but when I first arrived at Giovanni's bedside, I didn't want him to hold my hand. And I didn't move to embrace him at all. I just sat there trying to take in what was happening.
For one thing, G's face was not the face I knew. It was dripping wet with sweat. And his color was ghastly. The skin of his face was the color somewhere between a lemon and a lime, or the two fruits, combined.
But he was able to speak.
"You were good to come Fi...so quickly," he said. He ran his tongue back and forth over his lips.
"I am so terribly sorry, Giovanni." I didn't want to be sitting here staring at him. He looked to be on the other side -- the deathly side -- of sickly. It scared me on a very deep level. And like everything else about my relationship with him, this too was never supposed to happen!
"I know you are. I am too. Because I wanted to be..." he stopped and I had no idea what he wanted to say, so I just sat there. "I want to be there when you have the baby."
I blinked. And held my breath. I hadn't really been thinking quite that far ahead. I sat there, frozen again. Those moments with him were so much more painful than I realized when I was going through them. I think Nunzi was right when she said that I was in complete denial that morning.
"I know that you care for me very deeply," I said.
He nodded. "I do Filomena." He closed his eyes and for some reason I went back in time to when we first met on the beach. His head of blonde curls. His hair today had been trimmed very close to his head.
I maintained a steady gaze, finally meeting his eyes. I wanted to say that I too cared for him deeply. I was struggling with exactly what to say, though, and then without any warning, he was asleep! Or had he died?
Tullio and Edoardo were just outside his -- formerly our -- bedroom, and I rushed out to get them. Tullio set one hand under Giovanni's nose, and felt him breathing.
"This happens," Tullio said. "He will be talking and then he suddenly drops off."
So we three sat there waiting for him to wake up again. I had time to let my eyes circulate around the room. The salmon colored walls. The white satin wallpaper. All the exquisite handmade furniture. It stirred up bad, and sad, feelings.
Giovanni called out. "Please don't hate me Fi!" he screamed, and I stood up and leaned over him. But his eyes were closed, and soon his mouth hung open and his nose must have been blocked because he began snoring.
I sat there for several hours. I'm not sure how long exactly. At some point, Tullio forced me to go downstairs to the dining room where Giuseppi had prepared a small feast for me and Tullio. Edoardo had already eaten, and now he was going to sit beside Giovanni while the two of us ate.
"So his father isn't coming?" I said, in between bites of a delicate pasta with butter and capers, lemon and parsley.
"Ha, are you kidding? Giovanni didn't have too much to say after the doctor talked to him but he did say that he forbid me to inform his father that he was ill...and...dying!"
We sat in silence, eating. It was pitch black outside.
Finally Tullio spoke. "Fi, Giovanni has left you a sizable inheritance in his will. The details are still being finalized but..." I turned to stare at him. "But we are not married, Tullio, there is no..." "Fi, you've got to stop your foolishness," Tullio said, interrupting, and for the first time since I have known him, he sounded impatient with me. "You know very well that if Giovanni had any choice in the matter, the two of you would still be husband and wife. And of course, he loves that baby you are carrying..." Tullio shook his head slowly and sadly, side to side. His lips were pressed together. And then he lifted his cloth napkin to his eyes and dabbed at them.
His emotion kindled something in me. It was at that moment, I started to know in my body that I was losing Giovanni. I cannot explain it exactly, but looking back, it must have been the combination of eating and then feeling the depth of Tullio's sadness.
I knew something else. I knew that I had to get back upstairs because there was something I had to tell Giovanni. So I told Tullio, and the two of us went back upstairs. Tullio let me go in alone, however.
Edoardo was happy to give up the chair there beside Giovanni's bed. He was still asleep, but I made the decision: I would remain by his side until he woke up again. I was a bit panicked thinking he might not. I began to pray to Mary.
He woke up after about an hour. He looked very serene (and later I learned that was because the doctor had boosted his dosage of morphine, to make G more comfortable.)
Now I took hold of his bony hand, and squeezed it gently between my own hands. "I love you Giovanni," I said, whispering close to his ear.
When I sat up again, he was smiling a weaker version of that charming smile of his, the one I'll always hold in my heart.
"Mille grazie," he said, and he kept repeating those two words over and over again.
"Giovanni, I heard that you very generous to me in your will," I said. "You didn't have to do that."
"Oh. Yes. Of course I did," he said. And now his brow furrowed. He looked upset. "Oh would you please get Tullio?"
So I did, and Tullio took the chair on the left, and a nurse brought a chair for me on the right.
Giovanni had his eyes closed, but he opened them. "Tullio, I must ask you... to do something very important for me... quickly." His voice was listless. "Anything, G." "My father has his ways...and...his lawyers. Bastards, all of them. There must be no way that he can... interfere with my will..." He dropped off again, and I looked at Tullio. Fear rose up in me. But he opened his eyes again. "You and I must work together Tullio, quickly..." We sat, waiting. When he spoke next, his words came out in a rush: "You must prepare a letter... for me to sign. We must withdraw all the cash from my bank account in Cosenza. All of it for Filomena...a new account for her." He was breathless by the end.
I started to sweat. The air all around me felt warm and sticky, like it was hard to breathe it in. I felt lightheaded too. And on top of it all, the baby was kicking. I picked up the hem of my dress and wiped my face. And it was almost as if I wiped off the last bit of pretense. I was fully exposed now.
Tears bubbled up. I leaned over G from the right side, and rested my face there, and just let the tears soak into his chest. I remember all the nights I had rested here, mended to him, on this side of the bed, after the wedding.
I heard G say: "Tullio please...do this right away."
Tullio scurried off. And I cried and sat with G well into the night. I didn't want to leave him but Edoardo said I had to sleep, if not for me, then for the baby. He promised me on his life that if G seemed to worsen, he would wake me right away.
I went into another bedroom and lay down and pulled up a cotton blanket and was instantly asleep. I slept well into the morning. When I woke, the sun was up; I wasn't sure in the very first instant where I was, and then I knew and I hurried into G's room.
He was asleep and had one hand covering the other on his chest. I sat down. I felt a sore throat coming on. Soon a young woman I didn't know brought me coffee and a pastry and some water on a tray.
Tullio came in a little later with the letter G had to sign. And when G woke up next, Tullio held the pen in his hand and together, they signed his name in a childish scrawl.
All I could think about was how many times I had seen G writing like a demon, the words pouring out of his pen and filling up a pile of paper.
Giovanni passed away later that day. I stayed with him until late at night. I would have stayed until the next morning but Tullio and Edoardo insisted I leave him. They helped me up, and helped me walk, because I had started crying so hard that I couldn't talk and I felt like all of me was melting into the floor.
********* The funeral was a very small affair. There was no family at all, unless of course you count me as Giovanni's family. When I said this to Tullio, he got annoyed with me again.
"Of course you are his family Filomena. For heaven's sake, you are making his flesh and blood come alive inside you!"
I didn't know the priest who said the funeral Mass. I was just so glad it wasn't Father Crudele.
Both Tullio and Edoardo spoke at the end of the service, and then I said a few words. I didn't want to, at least not at first, because I said it would be too difficult for me not to cry. But then Edoardo said to me, "Do you think it's easy for us Filomena? Tullio and I have been friends with G for decades, since we met on the playground in the fourth grade!"
The night before the funeral, I went for a walk at dusk on the beach in Paola. The waves were crushing high and white, far up on the shore. My feet sank deeply into the sand as I walked. Suddenly I found myself talking to Giovanni.
"I can still remember meeting you right here on the beach. You were carrying a large leather notebook and immediately I wanted to know whether you were a writer or an artist. I started to fall in love with you at that very moment G. You were so tall, and with those blonde curls. I looked back after we passed each other and I could see that you were staring at me. So maybe you fell in love with me that day too."
"There are all kinds of love stories, Giovanni, but the kind we had was very special, full of drama and writing and your kindness to me. And there were so many months when I thought for sure I would never see you again. And now...
Suddenly it hit: the realization that this time, I really would never see him again. I started to sob, and I hurried forward on the beach.
All I could think was, "how can I possibly get up there to say anything if I just break down crying?"
Then I realized that no one would expect anything different of me. In fact, they might think it odd if I didn't start crying.
With that in mind, I went back home and wrote down what I was going to say in my journal. I took that with me to the funeral. When it was my turn to speak, I I started by holding up the journal. I told those gathered that Giovanni had bought me the journal, and four beautiful glass pens from Venice. "He taught me what it means to be a writer. And he gave me the confidence to express my thoughts."
Then I read what I had written in my journal. When I got to the part about what I would remember, I ended by saying. "I will always remember him as the first man that I fell in love with. And the man who has given me my first baby." I started crying then, very softly. I squeezed my eyes shut.
"I will never forget you, my darling Giovanni. As long as I am alive, you will be alive within me!"
After we went to the cemetery, all of us went to the house, where Giuseppi laid out a beautiful meal. I didn't feel at all like eating, at least not when I first got there. But Mama convinced me to sip some Prosecco, and before I knew it, I was feeling more relaxed. And then I was famished. I filled my plate with baked cod covered with bread crumbs, and pasta with pesto and fresh tomatoes, along with a couple of different salads. And then I looked around: where is he? Where is Giovanni? For a moment I had actually forgotten! But when I remembered, I felt the tears coming down. Mama saw me and guided me to a table. "Mangia, Filomena. Stai mangiando per due! You are eating for two!"
For dessert, Giuseppi had made olive oil cake with whipped cream and a delicious chocolate tiramisu because, he told me, "those were Signore Giovanni's favorite sweets, that is, besides you, Filomena!" He took me in his arms and hugged me tightly.
Soon after I ate dessert, all of my energy began to drain out of me, as if I were a sink and someone had pulled the plug. I hugged Tullio and Edoardo and Giuseppi again, and a few others I had known at the villa, and then I let Mama lead me out of the house into a carriage that was waiting there for us. I slept soundly until about 5 a.m. When I woke, it was still dark. The baby was moving around like crazy. Maybe he missed Giovanni too.
And then I remembered something else that troubled me: I still had no idea how I was going to keep my son (because I had decided it was a boy) out of the ospizia. The thought weighed heavily on my heart.
Little did I know, but the wheels of fate had started to turn, and very soon, I would have the answer I sought!
******* Mama has a saying, which pertains specifically to a baby being born. "Always women are waiting at the end, dying to know when their babies will come. Well they should realize one thing: the ripe pear when it's ready, falls from the tree."
In other words, everything in its time.
And that wisdom of my mother's applied to my baby's fate as well.
The day after Giovanni's funeral, I felt as though I was, as I told Mama, "good for nothing." I was too tired to move. And too sad to think straight.
So she told me she would sit with me and keep my company while she crocheted some lacy thing she was making.
"Take a nap, Fi," she said in the morning. I tried, but even though I felt tired, I was too distraught to fall asleep. I got up, and Mama made me a cup of chamomile tea, which is supposed to be relaxing.
As we were sitting together, drinking the tea, Nunzi arrived with Vincenzo riding on her hip.
Mama offered her tea but N asked for coffee, and so Mama made a pot of espresso and poured three cups. She pulled out some provolone and bread.
And then, as Nunzi stirred a bit of milk into her cup, she said something which almost made me fall off my chair.
"You have?"
"Yes, I think so. When we were down in Amantea, my husband's cousin Maria Sonobuona introduced me to this farmer's wife, a lovely lady named Adelina. She has four grown sons, and one age 11 and one six or seven and then suddenly, she became pregnant earlier this year. She is due to deliver her baby just about the time you do, in late October, or early November."
Mama apparently knew all about this. She was sitting in her chair, and when I glanced at her, I saw her staring at me. She looked...well, she looked worried.
"I'm not sure I understand Nunzi. Why does she want my baby, I mean, doesn't she have her hands full with all of her own kids?"
"Well, yes and no. She and her husband have an olive orchard, and a few goats and pigs and horses and chickens, and they make cheese and olive oil and they sell pork. But as my husband and I know so well, it is very hard to support a family on an olive orchard or a farm. Giovanna and I were talking, I liked her so much, Fi, you would too, she is sweet and smart and thoughtful and rather artistic. Like your Mama, she makes cotton lace -- the designs are all her own, and they are intricate and beautiful."
"I don't understand Nunzi. Please explain to me what you are thinking." I could feel a knot growing in my throat. I didn't want to have to think about this. I didn't want to think about another woman actually taking my baby.
Nunzi inhaled. "OK, well so I got to talking with Giovanna, as I said, and I mentioned that my best friend -- la mia migliore ragazza -- is facing a really difficult situation. I explained what had happened to you and then I said to her, "My friend's baby may unfortunately have to go to the ospizia."
I waited. Frankly, I was getting a bit impatient with Nunzi. And angry, too.
"Yes, and so?"
"Well, so Giovanna was very sympathetic. We both agreed the answer would be for someone who was having a baby at the same time to take...yours too."
"But why would she do that Nunzi?"
Nunzi shrugged and laughed. "Because, Fi, you silly girl. Because she would be...paid." She stared at me closely, to see my reaction I guess. "And what is ironic is that this conversation with her came just about the same day that you found out...that...G was leaving you a boatload of lira."
Finally I understood. Yes, how silly of me. Of course. It made sense that this woman would do this heroic thing for money. But then I thought about it some more...
"This woman, Nunzi, I'm sorry, but will she love my son, Nunzi? Just because I pay her?"
"I think if you find the right woman, and this woman Giovanna would be ideal, Fi, because she is a very special human being, very spiritual. And several of her children are grown. The grown ones eat a ton of food, however, as they are all working hard on the farm."
"I see." I shook my head. Actually, I really didn't quite see it. I felt like I should like this idea, because this was indeed a way to sidestep the ospizia. But this woman couldn't possibly love my baby the way I would. And I was feeling really angry all of sudden, angry that I should have to deal with this.
Mama spoke up at that moment, and it was almost as though she had read my mind. "Filomena, when Nunzi presented me with this idea a few days ago, I must say that I was not sure at all. Because, like you," she said, speaking slowly and carefully, "I kept thinking how can you pay someone to love your child? It's impossible. But then after living with the idea for the last three or four days, I started to warm up to it a little bit. So maybe you must give it some time."
Nunzi spoke. "I'm telling you Fi when you meet Giovanna," she caught herself. "Please excuse me, Fi, if you meet her, I promise you will find yourself falling in love with her, as I did! There is a certain quality about her. She is loved all over Amantea because she is forever coming to the aid of others, mothers, children, old folks, newlyweds, anyone in need."
I nodded. "OK, well." I inhaled deeply. "I think...I think I must meet her." I too spoke slowly. I rested my hands on my belly which was starting to stick out like a rounded shelf. Here it was almost the middle of September and I was due to deliver sometime in early November. The midwife, who I had seen a few weeks before said she wouldn't be surprised if the child came in late October.
At that moment, my baby spoke the only way he can: by squirming! He swims excitedly across my belly, my very pregnant belly -- la mia pancia molto incinta!! And he pokes his limbs out, too.
"Oh, there he goes," I said, and held Mama's hand on the side where I felt what I thought could be his elbow. Or the heel of his foot.
"Oh, il tallone!" Mama said, and a big smile widened across her face.
"Let me feel," Nunzi squealed. But the baby had shifted. "Oh well, I guess next time then."
"Yes, of course, next time." I turned to face Nunzi. "I just want to say thank you for doing all this for me." I paused. "I'm sorry if I am not more...grateful. It's just that..." here now tears were starting. "I don't want to think about anybody else with my...my baby."
Nunzi stood up and bent over and wrapped her arms around me. "Oh Fi, of course you don't, Fi. I understand. This is so awfully hard for you." Then she crouched down in front of me. "But remember Fi, this is how we are going to save the baby! You have to focus on that, sweetie! You must!" She reached her hands out to me and I took them.
I shook my head showing her I understood. But still, my tears wouldn't stop. They were tears for my baby, but also for the husband I had lost.
Now I felt thoroughly exhausted. Mama told me I should lay down again, and I did and this time, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was feeling better.
I realized that my dear Nunzi had figured out a way to save my little boy!
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